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Robin Hood and Marian 



MERRIE ENGLAND 

TRAVELS, DESCRIPTIONS, TALES 
AND HISTORICAL SKETCHES 



BY 

GRACE GREENWOOD 



BOSTON AND LONDON 

GINN AND COMPANY, PUBLISHERS 

1908 



fubttARY of OONGRESSJ 
lwo CoDies rtecatve? 

AUG 1 |W« 

CLASS/ A *Xc, Nv 

COPY q. __ 



Copyright, igo8 
By GINN & COMPANY 






m% 



ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 



GINN & COMPANY • PRO- 
PRIETORS • BOSTON • U.S.A. 



PREFACE 

More than half a century ago Grace Greenwood 
made what seemed to her a perilous journey across 
the Atlantic. She wrote about her travels for the 
Little Pilgrim, a magazine for children, and soon 
after some of the stories were published in book 
form under the title of Merrie England. It was to 
this book that many a child of those days owed his 
first introduction to English history and legend. 

It is largely by right of her ability to interpret 
the historical and legendary ideal that Grace Green- 
wood holds her high place as a writer for children. 
The keynote she seeks is fearless truth, bold daring 
for the right, patient suffering under wrong — the 
finest qualities to quicken the sympathies of a boy 
or a girl. In Merrie England she has obtained also 
the very spirit of travel in the way she has associ- 
ated history and legend with their local habitations. 
The old stones of York Minster are real because 
Queen Philippa was married there, and the Tower 
is sacred by reason of Raleigh's noble spirit. 



iv PREFACE 

Books with the merit of this one are rare, because 
writers with the author's charm are very few. It 
is hoped that Merrie England may gain with the 
children of to-day the popularity it had of old. 



CONTENTS 



Page 

Introduction vii 

Sherwood Forest i 

Robin Hood 

Nottingham Castle . . 29 

Alice Vane 

Warwick Castle 51 

Guy of Warwick 

York Minster 73 

Queen Philippa 

London and the Tower 89 

Sir Walter Raleigh 

The Tower — Conti7iued in 

Ladies Jane and Catharine Grey 

The Tower — Continued „ „ .131 

Arabella Stuart 

Westminster Abbey 149 

The Two Wills 

The New Palace of Westminster ..... 165 
The Prorogation 

Kenilworth Castle 181 

Little Rosamond 

Stratford-upon-Avon 201 

Shakspeare 

V 



INTRODUCTION 

When in my childhood I read the charming 
stories of Mrs. Sherwood and Miss Edge worth, 
and Walter Scott's Tales of a Grandfather, there 
sprang up in my heart a great longing to visit 
those noble old countries over the sea from whence 
our forefathers came ; and when in my girlhood, 
at school, I read the histories of England, Ireland, 
Scotland, France, and ancient Rome, stronger and 
stronger grew that longing, and every year that 
passed after only added to its intensity, until at 
last I resolved that, God willing, I zvould see those 
foreign lands and those peoples about which I 
had thought and dreamed so long. I have always 
noticed that a resolution formed in this manner 
is very sure to be carried out. There were many 
obstacles in the way of my darling plan ; but my 
heart and will were in it ; and so it came about 
that, on the 29th of May, 1852, I sailed from New 
York on the steamship Atlantic for Liverpool, 
England. 



viii INTRODUCTION 

I never shall forget that day. It was very calm 
and sunny ; the skies shed no tears over our going, 
and the sea seemed to invite us out on to its 
smooth and smiling expanse. They say that I 
bore up very well in parting with the friends who 
went with me on board the ship ; but when they 
were gone, and we had put off from shore, all 
seemed to grow dark and desolate around me. I 
felt like a poor little child left for the first time 
among strangers, and for a while I fear I behaved 
like a child ; for I bowed my head upon my hands 
and cried bitterly, and thought that I had been 
rash and foolish in leaving my pleasant valley home 
and all my dear ones to seek my fortune, as it 
were, in that great, strange world over the sea. But 
presently I said to myself, " This will never do ; 
we have undertaken a brave thing, and we must 
carry it bravely through." So, dashing away my 
tears, I choked down my childish feelings, and 
never let them overcome me again. 

For the first half of the voyage the weather con- 
tinued pleasant and all went well. We became 
accustomed to our life on shipboard, and endeav- 
ored to make ourselves at home. But it was very, 
very dull, I assure you, though we tried hard to 



INTRODUCTION ix 

amuse ourselves by walking and talking, reading 
and playing games. Some ate and drank a great 
deal, "just to pass away the time," they said; 
though, if you had seen them at the table, you 
would have supposed they had always been used 
to eating five hearty meals a day, they took to it 
so naturally. We were all so anxious to be enter- 
tained that we laughed at jokes that we would 
never have thought of laughing at on shore ; indeed, 
I "am afraid that two or three young gentlemen 
grew rather conceited and fancied themselves very 
clever and witty because we laughed at their non- 
sense when we had nothing else to do. There was 
one of these, I remember, who one morning formed 
the bright idea of pinning a large card, with the 
word " Engaged " printed on it, belonging to his 
stateroom, on to the coat skirt of another gentle- 
man ; but he so enjoyed his own trick beforehand that 
he went round among all the passengers to tell them 
what he was going to do ; and the consequence was, 
that some one slyly pinned just such a card to his 
coat skirt ; and we were all laughing at him when 
he thought we were laughing at his foolish joke. 

There was an elderly gentleman who had a spy- 
glass, and was always on the lookout for icebergs 



INTRODUCTION 



and whales. One day, after standing for hours on 
the wheel house, patiently watching, he shouted out 
that there was a great iceberg in sight. Though 
we all became excited in a moment and eager to 
behold this new wonder of the great deep, we could 
not make out any thing distinctly; but the elderly 
gentleman declared that he saw it as plainly as 
possible, sparkling in the noonday sun, and a large 
polar bear sitting on the topmost point. But when 
the captain levelled his glass in the direction pointed 
out he laughed, and said there was nothing there 
but a great white cloud. As for whales, there was 
but one seen during the voyage, and that came 
spouting along one morning when the elderly gen- 
tleman was down below eating his lunch. He was 
terribly vexed at losing the sight after having 
watched for it so long, and really seemed to take 
a spite against whales, for he never looked out for 
them after, but turned his attention to Mother 
Carey's chickens and porpoises. The first are little 
sea birds that sailors have a high regard for and con- 
sider sacred. If a passenger should shoot one, they 
would expect a tremendous storm to come up 
directly and the vessel to be wrecked in a few 
hours. Of course this is a foolish superstition. 



INTRODUCTION xi 

Porpoises are great, ugly, clumsy fish, that gen- 
erally swim in large companies, or "schools," as 
they are called, and roll and tumble about in an 
extraordinary manner. 

Hour after hour of the long, bright days, when 
we were out of sight of land, I used to sit on deck, 
looking over the sea, watching the great green 
waves, with their white tops flashing in the sun, 
as they rolled far, far away, till they seemed to 
break against the sky. I knew it was very grand 
and sublime ; but I hated it all the while, and 
would have given more for a few rods of firm earth, 
grassy, and shady, and flowery, than for all the 
seas that ever rolled under the sun. Though I 
kept up, and went to my meals, and made believe 
I enjoyed them ; though I walked the deck every 
day as if I were working my passage over ; though 
I laughed at every body's jokes, which was hardest 
of all, — yet I never felt happy or well, and always 
longed for land. 

One day, much to my surprise, I spied a real live 
butterfly on one of the spars of the vessel. It had 
been blown out from the shore, the captain said ; 
but its wings were wet with spray and torn by the 
winds, and it did not live many minutes after it lit. 



xii INTRODUCTION 

I thought to myself that perhaps this poor little 
creature had been born in some secluded cottage 
garden, brought up on the sweetest honey and the 
purest dew, cradled by night in a jasmine flower, 
and rocked by soft summer winds, or cosily couched 
in the heart of a rose, and sung to sleep by a merry 
cricket ; that perhaps she had always been happy 
and contented till some gossiping locust or vagrant 
humming bird had filled her ears with fine stories 
of grander gardens over the sea, and she had been 
seized with a foolish longing for foreign travel, 
strange sights, and adventures ; that from this time 
she had found her garden-home dull, her honey 
and dew insipid, her rose-bed uncomfortable, the 
song of her cricket-nurse harsh, till she could stand 
it no longer, but bravely flew off from shore, right 
over that beautiful, sparkling sea. Then the strong 
wind took her and whirled her on and on through 
the salt ocean spray all day and all night, till it left 
her at last, not in a foreign, fairy garden, but on a 
great ship, which smelt of tar instead of roses, and 
where she sunk fluttering down on to the deck, and 
the small gold stars died out of her azure wings, 
and she was soon only a little heap of shining dust. 
Somehow I did not feel in such good spirits about 



INTRODUCTION xiii 

my own travels after thinking out this story of 
the butterfly. 

Finally there came on stormy weather. It was 
rainy, windy, and cold, and the waves ran mountain 
high. They said that the sea looked very grand and 
terrible from the deck ; but I knew nothing of it, for 
I was down in the cabin prostrated with sea-sickness. 
I am not going to describe this to you, dear children. 
There are some dreadful things in this life which it 
is best you should not know much about till you 
are old and strong enough to bear them bravely ; 
and sea-sickness is one of these. 

I remember that one day, when I was most ill 
and sad, a young lady came to the sofa on which 
I lay, and bent over me, and talked for some time 
kindly and cheerfully. I had seen her in our 
own country, dressed very richly, and adorned with 
flowers and jewels, standing before great crowds 
of people, and singing as we fancy the angels sing ; 
but never had she seemed so beautiful and so good 
as when smiling over my couch and speaking such 
gentle, encouraging words to me in my suffering. 
That lady's name was Jenny Lind. 

There were several long, dark days when the 
ship did nothing but roll, and pitch, and creak, 



xiv INTRODUCTION 

and every thing seemed turning upside down ; 
but, with patient waiting and enduring, all dark- 
ness and trouble pass off at last. The day that 
the glad cry of " Land ahead ! " was heard the sky 
grew clear, the sea smooth, and we sufferers all 
got well. 

I can never tell how rejoiced I was to feel the 
ground under my feet again, nor how green, and 
pleasant, and garden-like England looked to me. 
It did not seem a strange country, even at first ; 
and I soon grew to love it and its kind, hospitable 
people with all my heart. I presently went into the 
country to visit some friends who lived in a very 
charming place. On my way there, and, indeed, 
every where that I went in England, I saw noble 
houses, parks, and gardens, and pretty cottages, 
beautiful hedges and lawns, grand old trees, and 
hosts on hosts of flowers. I soon became quite 

commented and happy ; and I should have been 

t 
very ungrateful if I had felt otherwise, all was so 

delightful about me, and every where I met such 

kind and generous friends. I was sometimes sorry 

that I could do so little and give so little in return 

for this goodness. I could only love them and 

thank God ; but perhaps this was enough. 



INTRODUCTION xv 



In the sketches which I now propose to write 
I do not intend to give you a particular description 
of all my travels, but shall try to tell you some- 
thing interesting of the principal places I visited, 
and of the distinguished men and women who live or 
have lived in them. And so ends my introduction. 



SHERWOOD FOREST 

ROBIN HOOD 




/■'" Old Sherwood 

: ^f^% ForQSt > y° u 

£f ■■ |i will remember, 
%>>J?-"~ was the favor- 
ite domain of 
that prince of outlaws — bold 
Robin Hood. There is little 
forest-land about there now, 
— none, indeed, that we 
should so call, — all the woods 
being enclosed in parks, and as 
carefully kept as gardens. But, as I 
journeyed through the country, my 
thoughts so went back to the old, old 
time that I almost expected, when- 
ever we passed a grove of trees or 
~ a shadowy glen, to be suddenly 
.^ surrounded by Robin Hood's 
r ^ merry men, armed with long 
bows and clad in Lincoln-green, or to see Robin 
Hood himself standing under an oak, sounding his 
silver bugle, till the old woods rang to the brave 
blast and echo answered far adown the glen. 

3 



SHERWOOD FOREST 



You have all doubtless read many stories of Robin 
Hood ; but, if you will listen to mine, I hope I shall 
be able to tell you some things that you have never 
heard before. 

Robert Fitzooth, Earl of Huntingdon, was born 
at Locksley, in the county of Nottingham, about 
the year 1160, in the reign of Henry II. He was 
left an orphan in his childhood, and placed under 
the guardianship of his uncle, the Abbot of St. 
Mary's, in York. The Abbot, who was a hard, 
avaricious man, found no difficulty in taking advan- 
tage of the young Earl Robert. By wily, wicked 
ways he took possession of all his nephew's estates 
and revenues one after another, pretending that he 
only meant to take care of them, lest Robert, whom 
he accused of being a wild lad, should squander 
them in dissipation. Robert bore this for a while, 
and tried hard to keep on peaceable terms with his 
uncle ; but the old man was very provoking. He 
would sit in the refectory of the splendid abbey, at 
a dinner table loaded with every luxury in the way 
of food, served on massive gold and silver plate, 
and with half a dozen bottles of good old wine 
before him, and then lecture poor Robert upon 



ROBIN HOOD 



temperance, self-denial, and sober, godly living, till 
Robert would smile grimly, and play with the hilt 
of his dagger in a way that the venerable Abbot did 
not like. 

When the Earl of Huntingdon came of age there 
was not a handsomer or more gallant young man 
among all the nobility and yeomanry of England. 
He was tall, straight, and athletic, with a quick, 
bounding step, and a brave, broad breast. He had 
a commanding but pleasant voice, a hearty smile, 
clear, honest eyes, ruddy cheeks and lips ; and his 
head, which he held rather haughtily, was crowned 
with clustering light-brown curls. Though belong- 
ing to a proud, aristocratic family, — who, in tracing 
their noble pedigree, could go back, back, till, for 
all I know, they lost themselves and their reckoning 
in the fogs of the first morning after the deluge, — 
Robert was not an aristocrat. He sympathized with 
the common people, in that day shamefully imposed 
upon, taxed, and tyrannized over by the bold barons. 
He joined in all their merry-makings, their manly 
and warlike exercises. He became so skilful with 
his bow that it is said he frequently sent an arrow 
the distance of a mile. From among his friends he 
selected four comrades, who were always true to 



SHERWOOD FOREST 



him — John Nailor, whom he nicknamed " Little 
John," George-a-Green, Muck, a miller's son, and a 
jolly friar called Tuck. 

One day a small sprig of the nobility, one Sir 
Roger of Doncaster, saw him mingling with the 
honest yeomen in their sports, and sneered at his 
vulgar tastes. Robert replied by challenging him 
to a shooting match. Sir Roger's arrow missed the 
target altogether, and stuck fast in the trunk of a 
tree some distance farther on. Robert took aim at 
this shaft, and split it clean up the middle. Then 
all the yeomen shouted and laughed ; and Sir Roger 
was so enraged that he was foolish enough to accept 
a second challenge to a wrestling match, in which 
Earl Robert threw him so often that he never felt 
fairly on his legs, but seemed always to be bumping 
against the ground. At last his senses were quite 
bumped out of him, and he lay stiff and still. Earl 
Robert revived him and helped him up ; but he was 
mortified and sullen, and ever after had a mean, 
bitter spite against his brave conqueror. 

It was not long after Robert came of age be- 
fore he was quite convinced that it was vain to 
hope to get his property out of the close clutch 
of his reverend relative. There was no use in his 



ROBIN HOOD 



appealing to the king. Henry II was now dead, and 
Richard I, called " the lion-hearted," had ascended 
the throne. But in a short time, thinking he had a 
call to go on a crusade to the Holy Land to fight 
the Saracens, he left the government to the care of 
Hugh Pudsey, Bishop of Durham, who was soon 
supplanted by a bolder and stronger man — Long- 
champ, Bishop of Ely and Chancellor of England, 
who usurped all the power and dignity of a mon- 
arch, and taxed and tyrannized to his bad heart's 
content. 

So, getting desperate, Earl Robert called together 
the bravest of his friends, threw up his title, assumed 
the name of Robin Hood, and took to the forest, 
where he led from that time a daring and danger- 
ous, but an independent and merry life. I know it 
is quite too late to think of making my hero out a 
good, honest man ; for long, long ago it got noised 
about that Robin Hood was a robber and outlaw. 
But in those old days, when kings robbed, and 
barons robbed, the thieving business was a good 
deal more respectable than it is now ; and the only 
difference between Robin Hood and those others 
was, that he took only from the rich and powerful, 
while they robbed the poor and defenceless. 



8 SHERWOOD FOREST 

The brave outlaw was joined by the best archers 
in the country, to the number of a hundred stout 
men and bold. These he clad all in Lincoln-green 
— a dress which made it hard to distinguish them 
at a little distance from the forest foliage amid 
which they lurked. When any one of these men 
was killed or took the strange notion to return to 
his friends and turn honest man again, Robin Hood 
would set out on a recruiting expedition. Wherever 
he heard of a young man of uncommon strength 
and hardihood he would go, disguised, and try him 
in wrestling and archery ; then, if satisfied, per- 
suade the yeoman to enlist. This was most often 
easily done ; for those were hard times for the 
people, and Robin Hood had a flattering tongue. 
So he kept himself in his hundred archers, and 
with them haunted the merry greenwood — Barns- 
dale, in Yorkshire, Plompton Park, in Cumber- 
land, and Sherwood, in Nottinghamshire. Past or 
through those forests ran the king's highways, 
whereon traders, nobles, and priests were obliged to 
travel ; but, after Robin Hood became sovereign of 
them, few journeys could be safely made in their 
vicinity. Sometimes, just when travellers began to 
breathe freely and speak above a whisper, thinking 



ROBIN HOOD 9 



themselves out of danger, Robin was down upon 
them, and they were obliged to come down with 
their money or stand as targets for his archers. 
Knowing that it was not good for holy men to be 
cumbered with too much worldly wealth, he always 
made free with the purses of rich priests. The old 
Abbot of St. Mary's himself, who once ventured 
to pass through Sherwood with a rich store of gold 
and silver, guarded by two hundred men, fell into 
his hands. After helping himself to the old miser's 
money, which was rightly his own, he set his lord- 
ship on his horse, with his face towards the tail, 
and so sent him off towards York, fretting and 
fuming, and (some of Robin's men said) swearing ; 
but that could hardly have been. The money so 
wrested from rich monks and arrogant barons 
Robin Hood constantly shared with the poor, and 
so filled many a sad home with mirth and com- 
fort, and made glad and grateful the hearts of the 
widow and the fatherless. He was always tender 
and kind to women and children. Noble ladies, 
with retinues and treasures, could pass in safety 
through his forests. One time a young dandy 
nobleman, meaning to take advantage of the gener- 
ous outlaw's gallantry, undertook to pass through 



10 SHERWOOD FOREST 

Sherwood, leading a train, in the disguise of a 
lady ; but at the first sight of a band of archers 
he showed himself so much more of a coward 
than a woman that Little John suspected him, 
tore off his veil, and hood, and velvet mantle, and 
made him pay dearly for the insult he had put 
upon womankind. 

Of the thousand and one adventures related of 
Robin Hood I have only room in this short history 
for two ; the first showing how he made a friend — 
the second how he won a wife. 

One morning, near Sherwood Forest, Robin Hood 
met a young man walking slowly, drooping his head 
and sighing deeply ; and he thought to himself, 
" This poor fellow must be melancholy mad or in 
love ; in either case he is to be pitied." So he 
kindly questioned the youth, who proved to be a 
yeoman by the name of Will Scarlocke. He trusted 
Robin Hood from the first, and told him that he 
was grieving because a fair maiden whom he loved, 
and who loved him, was that day to be married by 
her friends to a rich old man whom she detested. 
Robin Hood inquired the time and place of the 
wedding ; then, telling Will to keep up a good 
heart, bounded off into the forest. 



ROBIN HOOD n 



About noon there was a great ringing of bells 
at the church ; then came the wedding party and 
their friends. The bridegroom looked very proud 
and pompous in his gold-laced, velvet doublet and 
white silk hose ; but he was wheezy and hard of 
hearing, and so gouty that he had a little page to 
lift his feet, first one, then the other, up the altar- 
steps. The bride wept and looked wistfully round 
for her lover, who was hid behind a pillar, waiting 
for Robin Hood. The ceremony began, and Will 
was getting desperate, when a tall man, in the dress 
of a beggar, standing near the altar, drew a silver 
horn from beneath his mantle and blew a startling 
blast. Instantly fifty men in Lincoln-green burst 
into the church and dispersed the bridal party, all 
but the now happy bride and the frightened priest, 
whom Robin Hood commanded to marry the faith- 
ful pair at once. It was done ; and ever after Will 
Scarlocke was the fast friend of Robin Hood. 

One day, in pursuing a deer, Robin Hood was 
led into the park of the Earl of Fitzwater. There 
he suddenly heard voices and the trampling of 
horses, and soon saw a mail-clad knight, followed 
by six men-at-arms, and leading by the bridle a 
palfrey, on which sat a lovely lady, weeping and 



12 SHERWOOD FOREST 

wringing her hands. This maiden Robin Hood 
recognized at once as the young Lady Matilda, 
only daughter of the Earl of Fitzwater. Though 
quite alone, he did not hesitate, but sprang forward 
before the party, crying, — 

" Hold, thou false knight ! I command thee to 
let that noble lady go free ! " 

" Stand off, thou unmannerly churl, or I will 
cleave thy skull with my broadsword ! Know thou 
that I am John, thy prince." 

"And know thou," replied the outlaw, "that I 
am Robin Hood, King of Sherwood Forest." 

At these words all six of the men-at-arms put 
spurs to their horses and fled ; and the prince was 
glad to follow, scowling and cursing as he went. 
Then Lady Matilda, who seems to have been rather 
a romantic young woman, fainted, and fell into 
Robin Hood's arms ; and he, not knowing exactly 
what to do for a lady in such a case, carried her to 
a brook, and was about to dip her head in the 
water, when she suddenly came to herself. She 
then related to her preserver how that bad prince, 
whom she hated with all her might, had long been 
urging her to go with him to his wicked court, and 
how that afternoon, while she was walking in the 




Hold, thou false knight ! I command thee to let that 
noble lady go free ! " 



14 SHERWOOD FOREST 

park, he had surprised and carried her off. She 
told this story reclining on a mossy bank, with 
Robin Hood sitting at her feet, looking up into 
her face. She finished her story ; yet still Robin 
Hood sat at her feet, looking up into her face. At 
last the twilight shadows began to fall; then he 
sighed, and said, — 

" It is getting late, my lady ; shall I conduct you 
home?" 

But the Lady Matilda bent towards him, blush- 
ing and speaking very softly, and said, — 

" You have saved me from shame and sorrow ; 
henceforth I belong to you." 

Robin Hood started up gladly, then sunk back 
sadder than before, and said, — 

" No, lady, no ; you have been too delicately 
reared for an outlaw's wife." 

He then told her that though she might not dis- 
like his forest life in the warm summer-time, yet 
when the fall rains and winter frosts came she 
would find the cave in which he lived dark and 
chill, and would sigh for her father's comfortable 
castle-halls. 

But Lady Matilda was strong and healthful, and 
had little fear of colds or rheumatisms. She thought 



ROBIN HOOD 



15 



Robin Hood excessively handsome, and fancied that 
he would be the best protector against that naughty 
prince she could have. So she looked into his face 
with her beautiful, blue, beseeching eyes till he 
could resist her no longer, but lifted her on to her 
palfrey, and walked by her side towards Sherwood 
Forest, talking to her, holding her hand, and loving 
her better and better every step. They were mar- 
ried at the camp by jolly Friar Tuck, and had a 
merry wedding-feast. The next day Robin Hood 
and his wife, who had taken the name of Marian, 
sent a messenger to the Earl of Fitzwater, telling 
him how they were married, and asking if he had 
any objections. He sent back word that he dis- 
owned his daughter, and never would forgive her, 
and made some rather unhandsome remarks upon 
the character of his son-in-law, which roused Marian's 
spirit. But the old Earl missed his only child, and 
was so lonely in his grand castle that at last it 
seemed to him he must see her, or he should die. 
So he disguised himself as a mendicant minstrel 
and went to Robin Hood's camp. He was kindly 
received, and feasted with good game and excellent 
wine. After dinner Robin Hood flung himself down 
on a bank of wild violets for a nap, and Marian 



l6 SHERWOOD FOREST 

began scattering daisies over him. The Earl watched 
them in their happiness, and thought of his own 
loneliness till he could stand it no longer, but bowed 
his head in his hands and burst into tears. Marian 
knew that sob ; she had heard it once before, when 
her mother died. She dropped her flowers, ran to 
her father, flung her arms round his neck, and wept 
with him. Robin Hood sprang up and joined them, 
and all was made up among the three. Earl Fitz- 
water became quite fond of his son-in-law, though 
he often warned him that he would come to the 
gallows if he did not mend his ways. But Robin 
Hood never changed for the better or worse. He 
continued to take from the rich and give to the 
poor — to play tricks and seek adventures in dis- 
guise — to fight the troops of the king and the 
sheriff of Nottingham — to hate and make war on 
all priests to the last.. He lived to be an old man, 
loved by the poor, feared and hated by the rich. 

At length he fell ill of a lingering fever, and, 
unluckily, went for help to his aunt, Elizabeth de 
Staynton, Prioress of Kirklees Nunnery, in York- 
shire — a woman who had great skill in medicine. 
His old enemy, Sir Roger of Doncaster, hearing 
of this, went to her, and, telling her she had in her 



ROBIN HOOD 17 



power a great enemy of the church, urged her on 
to a dark and cruel deed. The Prioress went alone 
to Robin Hood as he lay tossing and gasping with 
his fever, and, pretending great kindness, said she 
must bleed him. He stretched out his arm, and she 
opened a large vein. The blood spouted out fiercely 
at first, and ran for a long time full and fast. 

" Have n't you taken enough ? " asked Robin 
Hood again and again, his voice growing weaker 
and weaker ; but the stern old woman always an- 
swered, "No." Then he sunk back on his pillow 
and fainted. Still the Prioress stood and looked 
on him with a cold, stony face, and still he bled 
and bled, till the couch on which he lay was all 
afloat with his blood. At last his white lips moved, 
and he murmured one word that touched the cruel 
heart of the Prioress. It was the name of his 
mother — her own sister. She sprang forward to 
bind up the arm and stop the bleeding, but too 
late. Robin Hood was dead. 



SHERWOOD FOREST 



The Lady Mildred — a Legend of 
Robin Hood 

There is a legend of Robin Hood never yet told 
in this country, which I think explains better than 
any other his leading such a wild, unlawful life. 

When the young Earl of Huntingdon was ward 
of the Abbot of St. Mary's he went often to the 
Nunnery of Kirklees, under pretence of paying his 
respects to his aunt, Elizabeth de Staynton, the 
Prioress, but really to see a lovely little girl whom 
she had under her care. This was his cousin, the 
Lady Mildred de Clare, who, like him, was an 
orphan. Lord Kyme, her father, a gallant soldier, 
had been killed in battle ; and his wife, who loved 
him more dearly than life, than the world and every 
body in it, mourned and wept herself away. Even 
when her little daughter nestled warmest against 
her bosom and wound her soft arms closest about 
her neck, she would long to be lying beside him 
under the lonely battle-ground, with her head on 
his cold, dead heart. 

Lady Kyme always loved Robert Fitzooth, her 
favorite sister's son ; and one day when, as the 
children were playing on the walls of her husband's 



ROBIN HOOD 19 



castle, the little Mildred fell into the moat, and 
Robert saved her life at the risk of his own, she 
made a solemn engagement with his mother that, 
when Robert should have grown to be a man and 
Mildred a young woman, they should be married ; 
for so, she said, two loving hearts, two noble titles, 
and two fine estates would be united. 

From this time the shy and tender Mildred 
looked up to her brave cousin as her future lord 
and husband ; while Robert began to call her his 
"little wife," and was very loving and condescend- 
ing towards her. She had a boudoir of her own, 
where she used to play housekeeping, and he 
would come to see her. Sometimes he would pre- 
tend he was just returned from the chase, and 
would stride in, blowing a little bugle, and carry- 
ing an old deerskin, with the horns on, and half a 
dozen grouse or pheasants, borrowed from the 
larder. These he would fling at Mildred's feet, 
saying, — 

" See, my fair lady, what trophies your noble 
lord brings from the chase ! Killed them all my- 
self with one arrow." 

Sometimes he would come as from the wars, 
armed with rusty old pieces of mail and weapons 



20 SHERWOOD FOREST 

taken from the armory — a helmet so big that he 
was obliged to stuff his jerkin (a sort of jacket) 
into it to keep it from shutting down quite over 
his face ; a ragged corselet of chain armor, which 
came to his knees ; a lance, with the point broken ; 
a long sword , which dragged behind him ; and a 
pair of big boots of mail, with spurs. He would 
look proud and warlike as he kissed Mildred's hand ; 
but he would beg her not to embrace him, as he 
had no less than a score of wounds on his breast, 
and some of them were a little sore. If she asked 
him to take a seat, he would say, " No, I thank 
you ; I have several other battles to fight to-day ; " 
but the fact w r as, his boots came up so high and his 
corselet hung so low he could n't sit down to save 
him. Sometimes he would come in morning-gown 
and slippers, and, with a grand, indifferent air, 
lounge on a couch, play with his dog, and take no 
notice of his poor little wife, till she would begin 
to cry, and ask him what she had done to make 
him stop loving her, or do a wiser thing — go and 
get him something nice to eat ; when he was sure 
to grow good humored and soon tease her for more. 
But these happy, childish days passed by ; the 
cousins became orphans at nearly the same time, 



ROBIN HOOD 21 



and, as we have seen, each was placed under the 
care of a hard-hearted relative. But, though they 
had many trials and discouragements, they kept on 
loving each other truly year after year, till Robert 
was a brave young man and Mildred a beautiful 
young woman. Robert could not often see his be- 
trothed except in the presence of his stern aunt 
the Prioress, and could only talk to her through a 
screen of lattice-work. But sometimes the Prioress 
permitted a certain old nun to go with Mildred to 
meet her cousin. This Sister Agatha was a good, 
compassionate woman. She remembered that she 
was once young, and how she loved a brave soldier 
who fell in battle. She still wore a lock of his hair, 
and a piece of his scarf, with a dark-red stain upon 
it, next her poor old heart. So she felt for Robert 
and Mildred, and would leave them alone, and kneel 
in the next room to pray for them, while they talked 
in low, loving tones, and smiled over pleasant plans, 
but oftener wept sad tears on each other's hands, 
held through the lattice. Here Robert would lighten 
his heart of its load of care and grief, and pour out 
his impatience and indignation against his hypo- 
critical uncle ; while Mildred would, grieving, tell 
how every day the Prioress warned her against him 



22 SHERWOOD FOREST 

as a wild, reckless, priest-distrusting, and therefore 
godless young man. The Prioress was a bigot, and 
really thought she was doing right in hating and 
opposing her nephew because he was not religious 
in her particular way. I am sadly afraid there are 
some people very like her in this respect nowa- 
days. But the Abbot had his own reasons for set- 
ting himself against this marriage. Lady Mildred 
had a large fortune, which he had not been able to 
obtain possession of. If Earl Robert married her 
this would be his, and* with it he might get back 
his own ; for in those wicked days kings could be 
bribed and priests could be bribed ; and lawyers 
were not much better ; they could be bribed too. 
I am not sure but that we have a few of the same 
sort in our time. 

So the Abbot set himself to work, and with the 
Prioress and Robert's enemy, Sir Roger of Don- 
caster, concocted a fine plot. The Abbot suddenly 
pretended friendliness, and proposed to his nephew 
to go to Nottingham Castle, with a fine escort and 
outfit, and join Prince John's guard. Noble hearts 
are the last to suspect treachery. Robert believed 
his uncle, went to court, and, as he bore a sealed 
letter from the Abbot, was graciously received by 



ROBIN HOOD 23 



the Prince. Lady Mildred grieved at his going, and 
being very modest, feared he would forget her when 
he came to see the gay and grand ladies of the court. 
And her fears seemed well founded ; for weeks and 
months passed without bringing her one word from 
Robert : then came a short, cold letter, telling her 
she must give up all thought of him as her husband, 
for he was about to marry one of Queen Elinor's 
maids of honor. Poor Mildred at first cried day and 
night ; then she grew restless, and walked about 
as if she were in a dream, and did n't see any body 
or any thing ; then she became calm and haughty, 
and smiled sometimes, a chill sort of a smile, and 
spoke in a strange, hard tone, as though all the 
sweetness had been drained out of her voice in 
tears. Then the Abbot and Prioress began to urge 
her to marry Sir Roger of Doncaster ; and, as she 
did n't care what became of her now, she consented. 
Earl Robert's faithful friend, Little John, hav- 
ing heard that this wedding was to be, went in 
great haste to Nottingham, to Earl Robert, who 
was true to his love, who had written to her many 
letters, which the Prioress had pocketed, and which 
the Abbot had used in imitating the hand-writing 
when he forged the one that did the mischief at last. 



24 SHERWOOD FOREST 

When Earl Robert heard Little John's news he 
set off at once for Yorkshire, never waiting for the 
Prince's leave. He rode day and night ; but he 
reached Kirklees Nunnery an hour too late. The 
wedding was over, and Mildred, his dear " little 
wife," was lost to him forever. 

When Lady Doncaster heard that her cousin 
Robert had been constant, and that in his anger 
and despair he had taken to the forests and become 
an outlaw, when she found her husband to be a 
cowardly, dishonorable man, she prayed that she 
might die. But after a while God consoled her 
with the gift of a noble little boy, who from the 
first was like her, and unlike his father. In loving 
and caring for this son, Lady Mildred found her 
only happiness. Sir Roger was proud of his hand- 
some heir, but never was fond of him ; for, when 
he said or did a mean thing, he could not bear the 
still scorn in the child's eyes and the disdainful 
quiver of his lip. 

The castle of Sir Roger was near Barnsdale, one 
of Robin Hood's forests ; and, when the free-boot- 
ing chief was there, Sir Roger never dared to jour- 
ney or hunt with ever so large a train without his 
wife to protect him. He kept his son also very 



ROBIN HOOD 25 



close ; for he suspected him of having an admira- 
tion for the character, if not a taste for the life, of 
Robin Hood. 

But one morning, when Hubert was about twelve 
years old, he managed to escape from the castle, 
and stole off into the greenwood. That day and 
night passed ; yet he did not return. Sir Roger, 
after making all the search he dared, became con- 
vinced that the lad had fallen into Robin Hood's 
hands, and groaned with the fear that they should 
never see him alive. But Lady Mildred said, calmly, 
" If Hubert is with him, Sir Roger, he is safe. 
Robert Fitzooth would never harm my — our 
child." 

They sent a herald to Robin Hood's camp to 
ransom and bring back the lad ; but the herald re- 
turned alone, saying that Hubert was at the camp, 
but Robin Hood refused to receive the ransom. 
Then Sir Roger's fright and rage increased ; but 
Lady Mildred smiled her sad, quiet smile, and 
looked out towards the forest. Suddenly there 
emerged from the wood Robin Hood and his 
favorite comrades, mounted on gayly caparisoned 
steeds and followed by fifty archers. They paused 
on a little hill, about a bow-shot from the castle, 



26 SHERWOOD FOREST 

and drew together as if consulting. Then Sir 
Roger, growing very pale, cried, " The villain out- 
law means to murder our boy before our eyes ! " 
But Lady Mildred still smiled her sad, quiet smile. 
Then the group of horsemen parted, and from 
between Robin Hood and Little John came young 
Hubert, riding a beautiful pony, as black as night 
and as fleet as the wind. Down the hill he dashed, 
over the meadow ! The warder hurried to let 
down the drawbridge and raise the portcullis ; and 
he came galloping through, reined up in the court, 
and flung himself, laughing, into his mother's 
arms ! 

That night, in the great supper-hall of the castle, 
Hubert told his adventures and praised Robin Hood 
till his father frowned and bade him "cease his 
chattering." But after supper his mother called 
him to her chamber and questioned him about his 
night in the forest. He said that soon after he 
reached the wood he met an archer, and boldly told 
him that he wanted to see Robin Hood. The archer, 
who was a good-natured fellow, conducted him to 
the camp and introduced him to his chief as the 
son of Sir Roger of Doncaster. Robin Hood 
started and frowned at first, he said ; then took 



ROBIN HOOD 27 



him by the arm and looked long and earnestly in his 
face and sighed. Here Lady Mildred sighed too. 

But after that Robin Hood was very kind to 
his young guest, gave him the place of honor by 
his side at supper, and made the men sing, and 
wrestle, and shoot with the long-bow for his amuse- 
ment. "And at night," said Hubert, "he himself 
arranged my bed of moss and leaves and spread 
over me his own mantle, and then sat down by my 
side and talked to me of you, mother." Here Lady 
Mildred sighed again. 

"He staid," continued Hubert, "talking with 
me softly in the moonlight, till a beautiful lady, 
whom he called Marian, came out of her tent, 
where she had been singing ballads all the evening 
to a little boy at her knee, and beckoned him away." 
Here Lady Mildred sighed deeper than before, and 
turned her face away from her son. 

Hubert kept Robin Hood's gift many years, and 
sometimes rode on him to visit his outlawed friend. 
He grew up to be a brave and honest man, in spite 
of his weak, bad father, and won much honor in 
the service of Richard, the Lion-hearted. 

So Lady Mildred, who lived to a good old age, 
was always happy in her noble son. As for Sir 



28 SHERWOOD FOREST 

Roger, after having helped to bring about the 
death of bold Robin Hood, he was one day way- 
laid by Will Scarlocke and Little John, who robbed 
him of his money and his fine velvet doublet and 
tied him to a tree ; and, though he was set free 
and sent home in the morning, he took such a 
fright and such a cold that he fell into a fever and 
died. 



NOTTINGHAM CASTLE 

ALICE VANE 




Nottingham, though a flourish- 
ing manufacturing town, with 
many fine buildings, is not a 
place of much interest, aside 
from the site and a few remains of an old castle, 
which we read a great deal about in English history. 
A new castle was built out of the remains of the 
old in Queen Anne's time, which in turn has gone to 
decay, or rather was demolished about twenty years 
ago by a mob, who were enraged against the owner, 
the Duke of Newcastle, for some political act. 

Old Nottingham Castle, a famous stronghold of 
the early Kings of England, was built on a high 
rock, overlooking the beautiful vale of Belvoir, the 
hills of Leicestershire, Nottinghamshire wolds, and 

3 1 



32 NOTTINGHAM CASTLE 

the silvery windings of the river Trent. At the 
base of the great rock glides the little river Leen. 

Underneath the castle the rock is curiously per- 
forated in every direction by winding passages and 
small caverns, some formed by Nature, but most, it 
is supposed, hewn out of the solid stone by an an- 
cient heathen priesthood of Britain called Druids. 
They sacrificed human victims to their deity, and 
made use of these caves as vaults for dead bodies 
of those they had murdered in a pious way, or as 
prisons for such refractory men and women as 
objected to their particular part in the bloody 
religious ceremony : at least so we are told by 
antiquarians — a set of very wise men, who get 
together and form societies, and talk very learnedly 
over old stones and bones and rusty armor and 
musty books, and know a great deal more about 
the people that lived hundreds of years ago than 
about their own brothers and sisters. They always 
seem to me a sort of human owl, they can look 
so far into the dark ages, and are so delightfully 
at home where every body else gets puzzled and 
lost. 

King John, the bad brother of Richard the Lion- 
hearted, frequently held his court at Nottingham ; 



ALICE VANE 33 



and it was the chosen abode of the beautiful Queen 
Isabella, wife of Edward II. This Queen had a 
favorite, one Roger de Mortimer, of whom she was 
very fond, and, when her husband was deposed, 
made him Regent. Mortimer proved arrogant and 
tyrannical. The nobles and people hated him ; and 
the young King, Edward III., hated him worse 
than all. So, by the advice of a Parliament, he 
resolved to make way with his mother's danger- 
ous pet. 

Through one of the underground passages of 
which I have spoken Edward entered the citadel 
and took Mortimer prisoner, in the very presence 
of the Queen, and in spite of her remonstrances 
and threats. Richard III., who should have been 
called Richard the Tiger-hearted, so cruel and 
blood-thirsty was he, often held court at Notting- 
ham. He went from here to Bosworth Field, where 
his ugly, deformed body was cut down in battle. 
The unfortunate Charles I., in his war with Oliver 
Cromwell and the Parliament, hoisted his banner 
on the highest turret of the castle, and with his 
own hand set up his royal standard on a hill near 
by. A great storm arose and blew it down that 
very night, which was taken by the superstitious 



34 NOTTINGHAM CASTLE 

people for a fearful omen ; and when, a few years 
after, the poor King was brought to Nottingham 
Castle, on his way to Holmby, in Nottingham- 
shire, a powerless prisoner, every body said, " I 
told you so." 

For several years during the period of the great 
civil war between the Royalists and Republicans, 
which took place more than two hundred years ago, 
one Colonel John Hutchinson was Governor of 
Nottingham Castle, holding it for Cromwell and 
the Parliament. It was a very important fortress ; 
and the Royalists tried every means in their power 
to get possession of it. The Earl of Newcastle 
offered a bribe of ten thousand pounds to Colo- 
nel Hutchinson to betray it into his hands ; but 
the gallant colonel repelled the offer with manly 
indignation. If he had yielded to this temptation 
he would have been classed among traitors, and his 
name would have been dishonored forever, instead 
of coming down to us, as it has come, with a brave 
and honest sound. 

In this war, the party under Cromwell, who were 
called Puritans and Roundheads, because of their 
being greatly given to praying and psalming and 
wearing their hair closely cropped, contended for 



ALICE VANE 35 



civil and religious liberty and a republican form of 
government with the Royalists, who were mostly 
aristocrats, and who were called Cavaliers. After a 
great deal of hard fighting and hard praying, the 
Roundheads got the power into their hands. They 
put King Charles I. to death, which they had better 
not have done, and made Cromwell Lord Protector ; 
or rather he made himself so ; for he had a will 
and a genius for generalship and government which 
nothing could withstand. 

But Cromwell died, and left no one great and 
powerful enough to succeed him. Then the Royalists 
came pouring in* from France and other countries 
whither they had fled or been banished, and brought 
with them Charles II., as profligate a Prince as 
ever lived, and set him on the throne, and things 
went on as bad as ever, till there came another 
revolution, and England got finally rid of the royal 
family of Stuart, and established a constitutional 
government, a strictly limited monarchy, better 
suited to a great and enlightened people. Charles I. 
was a handsome and elegant Prince, who suffered 
meekly all the insult and hard usage put upon 
him, and died like a man and a Christian at last. 
Though often false and weak, he was doubtless 



36 NOTTINGHAM CASTLE 

more to be pitied than blamed ; for falsehood and 
weakness ran in the Stuart blood. 

Cromwell was a rough, rude, brawny soldier, with 
a big nose, and an ugly wart on his forehead ; but 
though not always just or true, though always am- 
bitious, and sometimes unscrupulous, he taught the 
world a great new lesson — that kings have no 
"divine right" to tyrannize and break faith; and 
that they should be made to answer, not only to 
God, but to the people, for the way in which they 
govern. 

The Cavaliers were gay and gallant gentlemen, 
who wore elegant dresses and long curls ; loved 
good wine and beautiful ladies ; sung merry songs 
in praise of their Prince and in ridicule of the 
Roundheads ; danced well ; fought well ; and were 
altogether very fascinating fellows. 

But, as a party, they despised the common 
people, scoffed at republican principles of freedom 
and justice, and even at religion. 

The Roundheads were generally stern-featured, 
plainly clad men, who wore long faces, and spoke 
through their noses, in Scripture language, which 
particularly offended the Cavaliers, who held that 
to quote so much from a book of which they knew 



ALICE VANE 37 



nothing was the height of ill-breeding. In truth, I 
do not suppose that these Roundheads were the 
pleasantest sort of people to meet at balls and 
merry-makings ; but they were mostly earnest, 
honest, determined men, who fought for what they 
believed the right ; and, though there were some 
precious rascals and hypocrites among them, there 
were others grandly good and true, — such as John 
Hampden, John Milton, Sir Harry Vane, Henry 
Marten, and Andrew Marvel, — whose memories 
are still and ever shall be hated by tyrants and 
loved by the free, the wide world over. Amen. 

Alice Vane — a Story of Nottingham 
Castle 

When Colonel Hutchinson went to take com- 
mand of the fortress of Nottingham he took with 
him his young wife, a very clever and spirited 
woman, who afterwards wrote an interesting life 
of her husband, which you may read some day. 

During the last year of her stay in the castle 
Mrs. Hutchinson had under her care a little orphan 
relative by the name of Alice Vane — a beautiful, 
dark-eyed, sad, and silent child. 



38 NOTTINGHAM CASTLE 

Alice was but a -babe, too young to grieve, when 
her gentle mother died ; but within this year she 
had lost her father and her only brother, both of 
whom had been killed at the bloody battle of 
Naseby. She had dearly loved her noble father, 
who, stern as he was among men, was always mild 
and tender towards her ; but she had utterly idol- 
ized her brave brother Walter, so beautiful, so 
young ; for he was only seventeen the day of the 
battle in which he fell. 

Alice grieved so bitterly for the loss of these 
dear ones that her health suffered. She grew very 
pale and thin ; and, when she was brought to her 
aunt at Nottingham, it was said that she looked 
more like a sorrowful little spirit than like a flesh- 
and-blood child. She was a strange, shy, melan- 
choly girl, who in the midst of her grief was seldom 
seen to weep, but always sought some lonely and 
silent place in which to indulge her sorrow. She 
was a true Puritan — plain in speech and manner, 
and though not stiff or stern, always brave and 
truthful in heart. 

One day, soon after she came to Nottingham, she 
was allowed to descend with the warden into those 
curious caves and passages underneath the castle. 



ALICE VANE 39 



These she explored with much interest, as she had 
an adventurous, inquiring spirit ; and she fixed 
upon one little cave, feebly lit by a fissure in the 
rock, opening out to the day, for her own. She 
persuaded her kind friends to allow her to spend 
an hour or two every day here, taking with her 
some of her books and playthings. 

She loved to escape to this quiet spot, from the 
sound of endless praying and psalm-singing and 
religious discussions, which she could not under- 
stand, from the clang of muskets and the noise of 
rude soldiers, to read her little Bible, to repeat her 
hymns and the simple prayers her father had taught 
her, to think of him and her darling brother, and 
to weep for them, without being told that it was 
sinful rebellion against God to mourn for those He 
had taken to himself. 

One sunny day, when the light in her cave was 
unusually clear, Alice noticed that the wall in one 
corner did not seem of solid rock, but it was formed 
of stones piled one upon another. 

Little girls were as curious two hundred years 
ago as they are now-a-days. So Alice went to work 
at once, pulling and heaving with all her might ; 
and at last the stones gave way, one after another, 



40 NOTTINGHAM CASTLE 

and she saw that they had hid a small, low passage, 
leading directly down to the river Leen. 

All was dark at first ; but after a moment there 
was a little gleaming of sunlight and green leaves 
at the farther end of the passage. This was charm- 
ing, after being so long confined to the court-yard 
of a castle, to be able to sit under the shade of 
the thick shrubbery, on the banks of that pretty 
stream, to gather flowers, and put her feet in the 
water, and remember pleasant old times. So she lost 
not a moment ; but, gathering her frock about her, 
and crouching low, she groped her way carefully 
downward and stole out into the sunshine. She 
found that the mouth of the passage was completely 
hid on the outside by bushes, and that she, as she 
sat herself down on a bank, sweet with violets and 
bright with cowslips, could not be seen from the 
plain below or the castle above. As she sat there, 
listening to the birds, and wondering why it was 
that they never seemed to be singing solemn psalms 
through their noses like pious Puritans, never 
seemed to be preaching or rebuking, but always 
trying to cheer her heart with notes of joy and 
little melodious laughters, — so sweet, so tender, 
as though they were loving aloud, — her eye caught 




Putting aside some bushes she saw ... a young man who was 
lying asleep close against the rock 



4i 



42 NOTTINGHAM CASTLE 

something gleaming through the foliage near by, 
which she took for a bunch of scarlet poppies. 
But, going nearer, she found that it was the end 
of a silken scarf ; and, putting aside some bushes, 
she saw that this was a part of the dress of a 
young man, who was lying asleep close against the 
rock. He was a Cavalier. Alice knew it at once 
by his rich velvet doublet, his plumed and jewelled 
hat, and his long curls. The scarlet scarf she had 
first noticed was bound about his right arm; and 
Alice now saw that it and the lace ruffles at his 
wrist were deeply stained with blood. He was a 
very handsome, gallant-looking young man, but so 
deathly pale, and with so much suffering in his face, 
that Alice pitied him ; and, like the good, brave girl 
she was, she laid her hand on his shoulder and 
shook him gently, to waken him. He sprang up 
instantly and half drew his sword. Alice did not 
scream, scarcely moved, but said, very calmly, " It 
is only I, a little girl. What can I do for you, Sir 
Cavalier ? " 

The young man looked at her doubtfully at first 
and questioned her closely ; but when he found 
that she was quite alone, and that she gave frank, 
straight-forward answers, he confided in her and 



ALICE VANE 43 



begged her to help him. He was a nobleman, Lord 
Villiers, in the service of the King. He had been 
wounded the night before, in a skirmish near the 
castle, by a deep sword-cut in the arm, and stunned 
by a fall from his horse. His men, who were de- 
feated, had left him for dead ; but he had revived, 
and in the early morning had dragged himself to 
this spot where he had hid, hoping to be able to 
escape that night to some place of safety. But now, 
he said, he found himself so weak from pain, loss^ 
of blood, and want of food, that he doubted whether 
he could walk at all. Alice advised him to yield 
himself up as a prisoner of war at the castle ; but 
he swore an oath, that made her shudder, that he 
would sooner die where he was. 

"Then," said she, quietly, "I must do my best 
to conceal you, and nurse and feed you, till you 
are well enough to go on your way. Trust in me, 
and follow me." 

The Cavalier did as he was bid ; but, before 
entering the narrow, dark passage, he held up the 
cross of his sword-handle and bade Alice swear 
she would not betray him into her uncle's hands. 
But the little lady put it away with a great 
deal of dignity, and said, " I have promised. We 



44 NOTTINGHAM CASTLE 

Republicans do not need oaths to hold us to 
our word." 

Alice took back with her an armful of leafy 
branches, and, when they reached her little cave, 
spread them down for Lord Villiers to lie upon. 
She gave him for a pillow the cushion she had used 
to kneel on in her devotions, and laid over him her 
own little mantle. She then stole up into the castle 
and got some refreshment for him and a roll of old 
linen to bandage his arm. This she dressed as well 
as she knew how ; then smoothed his pillow, tucked 
her mantle closer about him, advised him to say 
his prayers like a good Christian, bade him good 
night, and left him to his rest. 

Alice had watched her aunt nursing wounded 
soldiers ; and the next morning, thinking it very 
probable that Lord Villiers' s arm would be inflamed, 
she took down suitable medicines and dressings. 
She found her patient tossing and moaning with 
fever, and for two or three days he suffered a great 
deal ; then she had the happiness to see him get 
better and stronger, till he began to talk and lay 
plans about leaving her. The young noble was 
gentle and grateful, and Alice grew really fond of 
him, though it grieved her that he was a Papist 



ALICE VANE 45 



and a Royalist. He was very familiar and confiding 
with his little friend, and told her of his beautiful 
sister, who was a great Duchess, and showed her 
a miniature, which he wore next his heart, of 
a still lovelier and dearer lady ; and Alice one day 
told him her sad story, in a low, mournful voice, 
struggling hard to keep the tears back, while her 
friend laid his hand on her head in a soft, pity- 
ing way. 

At last little Alice brought the joyful news 
that a considerable body of Royalist troops were 
encamped in the neighborhood ; and Lord Villiers 
resolved to escape and join them that very night. 

In preparation for this escape, he proceeded to 
buckle on his sword-belt, which he had laid aside 
during his illness. As Alice sat watching him, her 
eye fell for the first time on a jewel-hilted dagger 
which he wore under his doublet. 

Giving a quick, sharp cry, she sprang forward, 
caught this from its sheath, and, holding it up, 
exclaimed, " Where did you get this ? Tell me ! O, 
tell me!" 

The Cavalier was a good deal startled ; but he 
replied, very directly, " Why, to tell the truth, I 
took it from the body of a young Roundhead whom 



46 NOTTINGHAM CASTLE 

I killed at Naseby. I did not take it as a trophy of 
war, but as a memento of him ; for, though a mere 
boy, he was as brave as a lion." 

" You killed our Walter ! You f " cried Alice, in 
a tone of heart-breaking reproach ; then, sinking 
back, she clasped the dagger against her breast, 
and, bowing her head, rocked back and forth, mur- 
muring, " O brother ! brother ! " 

The careless young nobleman was shocked and 
grieved for Alice. He laid his hand on her head in 
the old caressing way ; but she flung it off with a 
shudder. Then, a little frightened, he exclaimed, 
" Now, Alice, you hate me, and perhaps you will 
betray me." 

But Alice, lifting her head proudly, replied, "Do 
you Royalists have such notions of honor ? We 
Republicans do not know how to break our word 
or betray a trust. You are safe ; and you would 
have been safe had you killed my father and every 
body I loved in the world ; for you trusted in me." 

They parted, not as enemies, but hardly as friends ; 
for Alice could not again shake cordially the hand 
that had cut down her beloved, only brother. She 
kept Walter's dagger, and treasured it sorrowfully 
all her life. 



ALICE VANE 47 



Lord Villiers escaped that night and joined the 
Royalist troops in safety. He continued to fight 
for the King till there was no more hope ; then 
went over to France, where he remained until after 
the Restoration, when he was appointed an officer 
in the court of Charles II. One of the first things 
he did was to inquire for the family of Colonel 
Hutchinson ; for he had always gratefully remem- 
bered his young protectress. He found that the 
colonel was imprisoned in the Tower, in very ill 
health, and that his wife and Alice Vane, now a 
young woman grown, were faithfully attending him. 
So he wrote to Alice, telling her how grateful he 
had ever been for her goodness and care and brave 
protection, which had surely saved his life, and how 
he hoped she bore no malice towards him in her 
heart for the death of her brother. He went on to 
say that he could not rest till he had done some- 
thing to repay her for her great kindness ; that he 
had it in his power through his wife, (for he was 
now married,) and his sister, the beautiful Duchess, 
to obtain for her the envied situation of Maid of 
Honor to the Queen. He said that, among the 
many beauties of that gay court, there was not one 
so lovely in his eyes as his dear little protectress 



48 NOTTINGHAM CASTLE 

had promised to be ; and that, should she accept the 
offered place, a life of luxury and pleasure would 
be before her ; for every body, from the King and 
Queen down to the pages and falconers of the 
court, would admire and love her for the beauty of 
her face and the nobleness of her character. 

Alice Vane replied to Lord Villiers in a frank, 
straight-forward letter, with which I will close this 
story. You will see that she employed the plain 
language then in great use among the Puritans, 
especially in writing. I have changed the spelling, 
which was in the old English style, and would be a 
little difficult for you to read. 

Dear Friend : It has given me joy to hear by 
thy letter that thou art living and wedded to the 
maiden thy heart hath cleaved unto so long ; but I 
am grieved that thou art exposing her and thyself 
to the temptations of a most ungodly court. 

I have long ago forgiven thee that cruel sword- 
thrust which made untimely end of my comely 
young brother's life and of the best joy of mine, 
and I have prayed that the Lord in his exceeding 
mercy will hold thee guiltless of his blood. Ye 
did meet in fair fight ; and verily hadst thou borne 



ALICE VANE 49 



thyself less manfully, thou wouldst have lain in 
poor Walter's place. 

Thou dost owe me nought for the little service I 
did thee. I would have done the same for the 
poorest man in the realm had he so needed. 

Thy gay court is no place for a lowly Christian 
maiden like me. Thine offer was made in kindness ; 
but forbear to urge it, lest thou wouldst have me 
come to stand before the man Charles Stuart and 
warn him to repent of his waste and wickedness 
and turn unto the Lord while it is yet time. 

We have been sorely tried by persecutions, loss, 
and imprisonment ; but the God of Israel hath been 
with us in his spirit and his word, and we have not 
been dismayed. 

I shall tarry with my kinsfolk as long as they 
have such earnest need of me ; but when I have 
release from this dear duty, with, a beloved and 
godly friend, whom the Lord hath raised up for me, 
I shall depart from this unhappy country, which 
hath backslidden from liberty and the true faith, to 
a land where we may worship in freedom and in 
peace. We shall cross the great deep, to where, in 
the heathen wilderness of America, God has pre- 
pared a refuge for his people. 



50 NOTTINGHAM CASTLE 

The Lord be with thee and preserve thee amid 

all the temptations that beset thee, and bring thee 

home, if even by sore chastening, to thy Father's 

house at last. 

I rest thy friend, 

Alice Vane. 



WARWICK CASTLE 

GUY OF WARWICK 




In the town of Warwick, near Stratford upon 
Avon, stands a grand old castle, built in the feudal 
times. It is not in ruins, like nearly all other 
English castles of that date, but is kept in beautiful 
repair and inhabited by the Earl of Warwick — one 
of the richest noblemen in England. 

It was on a lovely morning in June that we 
visited Warwick Castle. From a pretty carved 
stone bridge over the Avon we took our first view 
of the gray old walls, the towers and battlements, 
just enough overgrown with ivy to look beautiful 

53 



54 WARWICK CASTLE 

and not ruinous. Never before had I seen a build- 
ing for people to live in half so grand and noble ; 
yet often, after reading old English ballads and 
romances, I had dreamed of just such places. 

We stopped at the porter's lodge to wait for the 
Earl's permission to enter. In England it is not 
customary to admit strangers to see great houses 
when the masters or mistresses are at home ; but, 
on hearing that one of our party was an American 
lady, his lordship immediately commanded that his 
steward should show us over the castle and grounds. 
We passed up a long, wide passage, cut in the rock, 
but perfectly lined with ivy and flowers, visited the 
summer houses, and lingered under the shadow of 
magnificent oaks and cedars. The deep moat, once 
filled with water for defence, is now drained and 
overgrown with grass and shrubbery ; but we 
crossed it on a drawbridge, passed under a port- 
cullis into the court-yard, and from thence into the 
great hall of the castle. This is a splendid apart- 
ment, with a floor of polished marble and a ceiling 
of curiously-carved oak. It is hung with shining 
suits of armor and great branching horns of deer, 
and has a wide, deep chimney, with cosy oaken 
seats in the corners. We were then shown through 



GUY OF WARWICK 55 

long suites of magnificent rooms, filled with rich 
furniture, pictures, vases, statues, and all sorts of 
beautiful and costly things. 

The steward who conducted us was a tall, digni- 
fied person, very elegantly dressed — a grander 
looking man than our President ; but I am sorry to 
say he spoke very bad English. He had a way, 
which I did not like particularly, of hurrying us 
away from things which we wanted to see, and of 
calling upon us to admire things which we did n't 
take to at all. He looked most proud and solemn, 
and talked most eloquently, when he showed us a 
gloomy state bed, hung with faded silk curtains 
and called " Queen Anne's bed," because that good- 
natured, stout, and somewhat stupid old lady once 
slept on it. 

As we entered a small hall, dimly lighted, I 
started back suddenly ; for at the other end appeared 
a proud-looking man on horseback, who seemed just 
about to ride down upon us ; but at the next glance 
I saw that it was a picture — the portrait of King 
Charles I. by the great painter Vandyck. 

When we left the castle we found that our friend 
the steward did not feel quite so grand as he looked ; 
for he seemed to be very glad to get the half crown 



56 WARWICK CASTLE 

we gave him for his pains, and touched his hat to 
us, or rather made believe he did, for he was bare- 
headed at the time. 

As we were passing out of the grounds we were 
invited to stop at the porter's lodge, to see some 
curious old armor and arms, by the portress, whom 
I thought very hospitable in her feelings till I found 
that she expected a fee as well as the steward. 

The armor and arms kept here are of gigantic size, 
and are said to have belonged to Guy of Warwick — 
a famous knight, about whose history and exploits 
countless ballads and romances were written in old 
times. From some of these I will try' to make out 
his story in such a way as to give you amusement, 
if not profit. 

Story of Guy of Warwick 

There was once, in the days of the Saxon kings, 
a very powerful noble, named Roland, who was 
Earl, not only of Warwick, but of Oxford and Rock- 
ingham. He had no son to inherit his titles and 
estates ; but he had an only daughter, named Felice, 
who was a most extraordinary young woman, not 
only on account of her great beauty and wit, but 
for her learning, which was prodigious. In those 



GUY OF WARWICK 57 

times, if a young lady could sing a song, play a little 
on the lute, dance, ride, fly a hawk, work tapestry, 
and write her name, she was considered wonderfully 
accomplished. But Miss Felice had learned masters, 
whom her father sent for all the way to Toulouse, 
who taught her astronomy, arithmetic, geometry, 
geography, and rhetoric ; and she finally astonished 
all the world by her science. 

Earl Roland had a steward, named Segard — a 
clever, worthy man, who managed the vast estates 
of his lord wisely and justly. This Segard had an 
only son, named Guy, a remarkably beautiful, strong, 
and courageous young man. He had been educated 
as a page to the Earl, but had been promoted to 
the office of .cupbearer — a sort of poetic name for 
waiter. The first time that Guy was appointed to 
attend upon the Lady Felice at dinner he dressed 
himself elegantly, for he was a bit of a dandy, and 
looked so uncommonly handsome that her ladyship 
smiled on him graciously, and said that she was 
very happy to make the acquaintance of such a 
worthy young man as her papa had often told her 
he was. Guy was so agitated at this kind speech 
that he spilt a glass of wine he was pouring for 
her on her new satin dress. He was dreadfully 



58 WARWICK CASTLE 

frightened at what he had done, till Felice said, 
sweetly, "Never mind;" which showed that she 
was a very amiable young lady indeed. 

Guy Segard seems to have had all the virtues 
but modesty. He presently grew so presuming as 
to make love to his beautiful and learned mistress 
and to ask her to marry him. The proud Felice 
said " No ! " very scornfully ; and Guy took it so to 
heart that he fell sick with sorrow. He had the 
Earl's best physicians ; but they could not make 
out what ailed him, though they all agreed that he 
was sure to die ; and his simple old father believed 
them, and got every thing ready for the funeral. 
Then the Lady Felice thought to herself that 
matters were getting rather serious, and that really 
something ought to be done to save the poor young 
man. So she went to work and dreamed a dream 
that an angel appeared to her and told her to return 
the love of the gallant Guy ; and in the morning 
early she sent him word that, as soon as he had 
received the honor of knighthood and proved his 
valor in battles and tournaments, she would be his 
wife. On hearing this good news Guy threw away 
his physic, drove out his doleful doctors, and got 
well directly. 



GUY OF WARWICK 59 

The good old Earl soon after bestowed upon him 
the honor of knighthood, in this way : Guy, clad in 
the richest armor, knelt at the feet of the Earl, in 
the presence of the whole court ; and the Earl, 
striking him gently on the shoulder with his sword, 
said, " Rise, Sir Knight ! " and Guy, who had knelt 
down a peasant-page, arose a gentleman-soldier. 

The next day he took leave of his father and 
mother, of the Lady Felice, and lastly of the Earl, 
who certainly behaved very handsomely on the 
occasion, furnishing the young knight with horses 
and followers and a considerable sum of money, with 
which he set out on his travels in search of honors 
and adventures. Felice felt sad at first ; but she 
finally consoled herself with science, and went on 
studying the stars. 

Sir Guy first went into Normandy, where he 
presently distinguished himself at a great tourna- 
ment to such a degree that he was offered the hand 
of the Princess Blanche, the daughter of the Emperor 
Reignier. Sir Guy answered that he was sorry to 
disappoint the Princess, but he was already engaged 
to the most beautiful and scientific lady in the world. 
Blanche, who was very pretty, lifted her head proudly 
and angrily at what he said about beauty, but dropped 



60 WARWICK CASTLE 

it again when he came to the science ; for she, poor 
thing ! could hardly write her name, and did n't even 
know the Multiplication Table. 

From Normandy Sir Guy travelled through Ger- 
many, Lombardy, and Spain, fighting in every tour- 
nament, winning every prize, and making himself 
more and more famous. Then he returned to Eng- 
land, where he was received with flattering kindness 
by the King. He hurried down to Warwick, hoping 
that Felice would now be ready to marry him ; but 
the proud lady was not yet satisfied. She told him to 
go abroad again and get more glory ; and he went. 

But, while waiting on the seashore for a fair 
wind, Sir Guy heard strange stories of the devasta- 
tions of a furious dun cow, so enormous that her 
bellow was like thunder, and her tramp shook down 
houses like an earthquake ; and, when she pawed 
the ground, she dug great pits and raised vast clouds 
of dust. 

The people prayed fervently to be delivered from 
her ; and as for fasting, they were obliged to do 
that ; for every where 'she went she ate up all the 
grain. Of course Sir Guy buckled on his armor 
and rode forth to slay. He followed the cow to a 
village, where she went tearing up the street, jarring 



GUY OF WARWICK 6l 

down steeples with her bellow, whisking off chim- 
neys with her tail, and driving the frightened 
villagers before her, till she had them all in the 
market-place, where she began tossing them on her 
horns so fast and furiously that when the knight 
came up there seemed to be more people in the air 
than on the ground. But Sir Guy went at her so 
bravely, and pricked her so smartly with his lance, 
that she soon took flight, and ran bellowing home 
to her haunt on Dunsmore Heath. The knight 
followed at full speed, and, with a few stout blows 
with his tremendous battle-axe, put a stop to her 
cruel sport, and made happy hundreds on hundreds 
of poor peasants. 

I cannot think of relating to you all of the exploits 
and adventures of Sir Guy during his second tour, 
which lasted several years. Indeed, so long was he 
away from his Felice that he once came near forget- 
ting her and doing her a great wrong. This was 
how it happened : Hearing that the Greek Emperor 
Ernis was besieged at Constantinople by the Soudan 
with a powerful army, he went to his help at the 
head of a thousand brave knights. The Saracens 
came up in vast hosts to assault the city ; but Guy, 
at the head of his men, went out to meet them with 



62 WARWICK CASTLE 

some terrible engines he had invented, and fought 
himself with such prodigious fierceness and strength 
that the Soudan was defeated and no less than 
fifteen acres were covered with dead Saracens. 

The next day Sir Guy rode out alone to the 
Soudan's camp, to propose to him to have the con- 
flict settled by a single combat ; but the discourte- 
ous Soudan no sooner heard his name than he 
commanded that the knight should be immediately 
put to death ; but in an instant Guy drew his sword, 
and, dashing up to the monarch, shaved his head 
clear off, and, catching it up with his left hand and 
fighting with the right, galloped through the camp 
and back to the city ; and this finished the war. 
The Emperor Ernis was so grateful for all these 
services that he offered him half his kingdom and 
the hand of his daughter in marriage. Loret was a 
beautiful Princess. Sir Guy consented, and stood 
up to be married ; when suddenly, at the sight of 
the wedding-ring, he thought of Felice, and dropped 
the bride's hand as though it had been a hot iron, 
declaring that he could not have her at all. He 
then fell down in a swoon, and was so ill as to keep 
his bed for several weeks. When he recovered he 
still declined to be married ; but the Emperor and 



GUY OF WARWICK 63 

Loret, who seem to have been very good-natured 
people, treated him just as well as ever. 

But after a while something occurred to make 
him feel a little uncomfortable at Constantinople, 
and caused him to leave rather suddenly. 

One day, when Sir Guy first came into the 
Emperor's dominions, he witnessed, while riding 
through a forest, a dreadful conflict between a lion 
and a dragon. Now, Sir Guy never would see a 
fight of any kind without having a hand in it ; so 
he put his lance in rest, and, galloping up to the 
dragon, pierced him through and through, and at 
last pinned him to the ground. When he had fin- 
ished the monster he was about to go at the lion 
with his battle-axe ; when that ferocious animal 
showed his gratitude at being delivered from the 
dragon by crouching before the knight and fawning 
on him like a dog. 

When Sir Guy turned to go the lion followed 
him, and continued to follow him, watch over him, 
and share in all his travels and adventures. When 
his master was engaged in combat with any reason- 
able number of Saracens at a time the lion would 
stand back and see fair play, feeling quite sure that 
the knight would be victorious ; but when he saw 



64 WARWICK CASTLE 

fifteen or twenty attack Sir Guy at once he would 
set up a tremendous roar, leap into the midst of the 
fight, and soon settle the matter. Then the knight 
would pat him on the head and say, "Good old Leo ! " 
and Leo would wag his tail, and lick the hand of 
the knight, and trot along after him in search of 
new adventures. 

At the court of the Emperor, Leo became a very 
great lion indeed, and always created a sensation 
when he appeared in society. The Greek knights 
envied Sir Guy his noble favorite, and would have 
given any price for him if he would have been as 
docile to them ; but faithful hearts can never be 
bought. The ladies were desperately afraid of him ; 
yet for the sake of his handsome master they pre- 
tended to admire him, and said he was " a love of a 
pet ; ' ' but they took good care to keep out of the 
reach of his claws. The Princess Loret once went 
so far as to lay her hand on his mane and say, 
"Good Leo; pretty Leo;" but when he was im- 
polite enough to reply to her compliment by a roar, 
though it was one of his mildest, she fainted quite 
away and fell into Sir Guy's arms. 

Sir Guy had a rival, one Sir Morgadour, the 
steward of the Emperor, who tried for a long time 




The lion showed his gratitude by crouching before the knight 
65 



66 WARWICK CASTLE 

to take the brave knight's life by treachery and 
assassination ; for he never had courage to contend 
with him singly in fair fight. One day this cruel 
and cowardly fellow, seeing the lion quietly sleep- 
ing in an arbor, sent a poisoned arrow into his 
breast. Poor Leo had only strength enough to 
reach Sir Guy's chamber and drag himself to his 
dear master's feet, where he lay groaning piteously, 
and wagging his tail slowly and more slowly, till he 
died. While the knight stood weeping beside the 
corpse, a little girl — for there were little girls in 
those warlike old times — came softly in and told him 
that, while she was in the garden picking a few figs 
for dinner, she saw Sir Morgadour shoot the lion. 
Sir Guy had forgiven his enemy every attempt upon 
his own life ; but he now swore over the bleeding 
body of his friend to avenge his death. So, drawing 
his sword, he rushed out to seek Sir Morgadour, 
whom he found directly ; and, walking straight up 
to him, he immediately cut his head off — a very 
severe punishment, certainly, while it lasted. 

As Sir Morgadour's friends at court looked 
black at Sir Guy after this, or cut his acquaintance 
altogether, he concluded, as I said, to leave Con- 
stantinople. He travelled again through Germany 



GUY OF WARWICK 67 

and various other countries, fighting and conquer- 
ing, defending the right and befriending the weak ; 
till at last, having won all the glory that was to be 
had in the world, he returned to England. First 
he went to York to pay his respects to King 
Athelstan, who was particularly overjoyed to see 
him just then, because he had use for him. There 
was a monstrous dragon, black and scaly, winged 
and six-headed, which was murdering and eating 
up people by the score in the county of Northum- 
berland. 

So the King said to Sir Guy, "My people are 
petitioning me every day to deliver them from this 
monster. They are always grumbling about some- 
thing. It seems to me there 's not much reason in 
this complaint, for, if the dragon eats them, they '11 
surely get rid of paying taxes ; but perhaps we may 
as well put an end to the career of the foul beast ; 
for he might take a fancy to come to court — which 
would be unpleasant, you know. So Guy, my dear 
fellow, as dragons are in your line, suppose you 
undertake this one." 

The knight bowed low and said, "Very well, 
sire ;" and a few days after he sent King Athelstan 
the dragon's six heads, with his compliments. 



68 WARWICK CASTLE 

Then he went to Warwick to see Felice, who had 
got enough of science, as he of glory. So they were 
married, amid great pomp and rejoicing. 

After this happy event people thought that Sir 
Guy would settle down quietly and peaceably at War- 
wick. But no : his life there soon seemed very dull 
and insipid ; and, when his wife talked to him about 
science, he yawned and sighed for new adventures. 
It may be that Felice attended more to the stars 
than to her own household ; it may be she was not 
a good pudding-maker ; for in a short time Sir Guy 
left her and set out again on his fighting travels 
as a knight-errant. Knights-errant were roving 
soldiers, who went about attending to every body's 
business but their own. There are none of these 
in our time. The nearest approach we have to them 
are a sort of female knights-errant, who go about 
meddling and making with their neighbors' affairs ; 
who meet at tea-tables instead of tournaments, and 
tilt with tongues instead of lances. You can find 
several of these in every village. 
. Lady Felice wept till her bright eyes grew dim 
after her husband left her. The stars could not 
console her this time ; but a little son who was 
born to her did ; though at first she wept more 



GUY OF WARWICK 69 

bitterly than ever — he looked so like his father. 
She called him Raynburn, and cared for him lovingly 
till he was four years of age, when he was stolen 
away by some Saracens ; and, though he grew to be 
a great knight, his mother never saw him again. 
So the poor woman had sorrow enough to punish 
her for all the pride and vanity of her girlhood. 

Sir Guy continued to have many wonderful ad- 
ventures ; but I have only room for one more. 

Once, in Constantinople, he challenged to com- 
bat an uncommonly brave and powerful knight, one 
Sir Barnard ; and, though they fought all day, 
neither was victorious. But Sir Barnard was afraid 
to meet his foe next day, and in the night, while 
Sir Guy slept soundly, had his bed taken up, with 
him on it, and flung into the sea. The waves were 
calm ; and Sir Guy floated quietly off, never once 
starting in his sleep. Early in the morning he 
awoke with a strange feeling in his stomach, which 
he presently found was sea-sickness. He found, 
also, that he was nearly out of sight of land. By 
and by he saw a fishing-boat in the distance. He 
waved a sheet as a sign of distress ; and the fisher- 
man came, took him into his boat and rowed him 
back to the city, where, as soon as he was dressed 



yo WARWICK CASTLE 

and armed, he entered the lists, challenged the 
astonished Sir Barnard again, and this time slew 
him. 

After some years Sir Guy went back to England 
and visited Warwick in the disguise of a palmer. 
He found his wife grown very charitable and 
religious ; and, seeing that things were going on 
very well, he did not reveal himself, but went away 
disguised as he came, having made a visit more 
satisfactory to himself than to his wife. He retired 
to the forest of Ardenne, where he spent the rest 
of his days as a hermit, growing more and more 
pious as he grew old and feeble. When he took to 
his bed with his last sickness, he thought it would 
be a comfortable thing to have a wife to nurse him. 
So he sent for Felice, who came and nursed him 
tenderly till he died. Then, for all that he had 
been but a poor vagabond sort of husband to her, 
she grieved so bitterly for him that in fifteen days 
she died too. 

This is all I can tell you of Guy of Warwick ; 
but perhaps it is more than enough. Between you 
and me, I very much doubt the truth of some of 
these wonderful stories, especially the one about 
the dun cow. Dragons we read of in the Scriptures ; 



GUY OF WARWICK 7 1 

so perhaps it won't do to dispute the possibility of 
his having killed some monster of that sort ; but 
who ever heard before of a cow behaving in such an 
extraordinary manner, devastating whole countries 
and tossing such multitudes of people on her horns ? 
On the whole, I am inclined to believe it was a 
mammoth, or perhaps only a large Durham bull 
gone mad. 



YORK MINSTER 

QUEEN PHILIPPA 




fill 'B^' "^ 

7 *«%$&: Mit 




York Minster is a vast and mag- 
nificent building, far more beautiful 
than the cathedral at Lincoln or than any other 
that I saw in England. I wandered through it for 
hours, wondering and admiring, never satisfied with 
gazing up at its grand arches of finely-carved stone, 
rising one above another, supported by immense 
columns, and at the great windows of stained glass, 
which seemed to turn all the light of the day into 
glorious rainbows. Nor could I ever tire of listen- 
ing to the music of the noble organ, now solemn, 
now joyful, and the sweet chanting of the young 
choristers, which made me dream of the great 
music of heaven and the singing of the saints in 
blessedness. 

75 



76 YORK MINSTER 

York Minster was founded as long ago as the 
year 627, by Edwyn, an Anglo-Saxon King of 
the Northumbrians. This monarch was converted 
from paganism in a rather romantic way ; but 
he proved a very true and faithful Christian for 
all that. 

He wished to marry Edilburga, the daughter of 
Ethelbert, King of Kent ; but that young Princess 
was a Christian, and would not consent to be his 
wife, though she liked him very well, unless he 
would promise, not only to allow her to enjoy her 
religious faith, but to renounce paganism. Edwyn 
agreed to let Edilburga keep her belief ; but, though 
very much in love, he was too wise and honest to 
promise to give up his own without knowing what 
he was going to have in the place of it. So he 
told her that he would examine her religion, and, 
if it should appear to him better and purer than 
his own, he would adopt it and support it with all 
his power. 

So Edilburga, who relied on his word, came to 
York to be his Queen, accompanied by a learned 
and eloquent priest named Paulinus, who talked and 
argued with the King till he acknowledged himself 
entirely convinced. Then he called a council of his 



QUEEN PHILIPPA yy 

great men and frankly acknowledged his change of 
sentiments, and called upon them to examine and 
adopt the new religion. 

This was a very brave and manly deed for a 
young King to do. It is always a dangerous thing 
to meddle with a people's religion, if it is ever so 
false and bad. It is sacred to those who believe in 
it ; and those who don't believe in it either fear it or 
live by it ; so nobody likes to see it touched. Now, 
the armed nobles looked at one another in silent 
astonishment ; the pagan priests looked frightened 
or angry, or drew down their faces and rolled up 
their eyes, as though shocked at the King's profanity. 
Edwyn was pale, and his voice shook a little, but 
not with fear ; for God strengthened his heart 
that it did not fail. A holy light shone in his eye, 
and he spoke such wise and earnest words that every 
honest man present felt ready to adopt the religion 
of Jesus Christ. 

Wonderful to tell, the first to address the council 
after the King was Coifi, the heathen high-priest, 
who boldly acknowledged that the deities he had 
been serving were worthless and powerless, and 
declared his willingness to be taught a better doc- 
trine. Then a noble spoke, saying, " O mighty 



78 YORK MINSTER 

King, of what good is our religion ? Does it not 
leave us in thick darkness of ignorance about the 
great future beyond this life ? Like birds that flit 
about us for a season, then fly away out of our view 
we know not whither, so we for a little while on 
this earth pass away, and no eye can follow us. If 
the stranger can tell what that life is that begins 
when our hearts stop their beating, what our souls 
behold when our eyes have ceased from seeing, 
where they dwell when the grave has shut over our 
bodies, then let us receive his teachings." 

Several other speeches like this were made ; and 
all the council professed to be of King Edwyn's 
opinion. 

Coin, the high-priest, became so excited that he 
proposed at once to set about destroying the heathen 
temples. So he armed himself and mounted one of 
the king's horses, and, heading a troop of soldiers, 
attacked the great temple at Godmundingham and 
soon levelled it to the ground. 

From that time the people eagerly embraced 
Christianity, mostly from honest conviction, but 
some, I am afraid, because the King and the nobil- 
ity had set the fashion. It is said that for thirty- 
six days Bishop Paulinus did nothing from morning 



QUEEN PHILIPPA 79 

till night but baptize converts ; that on one day he 
baptized no less than twelve thousand ! I don't like 
to dispute any thing I find in history : I only say 
that Paulinus appears to have been a very extraor- 
dinary man in his way, and must have used won- 
derful despatch. 

On the spot where King Edwyn was baptized he 
erected a magnificent stone church ; but after his 
death the pagans got the upper hand and levelled it 
to the ground. In the reigns of the warlike kings 
that followed, some pious, some wicked, it was 
rebuilt and destroyed so often that it seemed all the 
time to be either going up very slowly or coming 
down very rapidly. At last, in the year 12 16, the 
present beautiful building was commenced ; and in 
about two hundred years it was finished. So it is 
now nearly seven hundred years old. 

The Story of Queen Philippa 

The young King Edward III. was married to the 
Lady Philippa, of Hainault, at York, in the year 
1328. 

Edward was a brave and handsome man, and a 
very good Prince, as Princes go ; but as for Philippa, 



80 YORK MINSTER 

she was one of the most beautiful and amiable, wise 
and noble, of Princesses. Even now men speak her 
name reverently ; and women are proud and happy 
that such a woman has lived. 

That was a splendid wedding. Such a magnificent 
procession followed the royal pair into the minster 
— all the highest nobility of England and Scot- 
land ; the parliament and council ; Edward's beau- 
tiful mother, Queen Isabella, with her train of fair 
ladies ; foreign princes, with their suites ; soldiers, 
and musicians, and richly-robed priests ! The min- 
ster was hung with rich draperies and strewn with 
flowers. Under the arches stood banners so thick 
that they shook and rustled against each other ; 
and all down the aisles there was a great clang of 
swords and armor. But when Edward and Philippa 
stood before the altar no one noticed the splendor 
of the scene, for gazing on their youthful beauty ; 
and every sound was hushed, that their voices might 
be heard repeating the solemn words of the priest. 

As Queen Philippa was passing out of the min- 
ster, conducted by her husband, she noticed a 
plainly-dressed youth leaning against one of the 
pillars, whose pale, gentle face somehow struck 
to her heart. It was not the admiration she read 



QUEEN PHILIPPA 8l 

in his gaze which made her look at him so ear- 
nestly, but the great thoughts burning in his eyes. 
This was Chaucer, the poet, whose works we read 
even now with delight, while the very names of 
the grand nobles and princes who surrounded him 
on that day are forgotten. 

Philippa continued always to be as good and 
sensible as she was graceful and beautiful, and 
made the English people an excellent Queen. 
From the first she influenced the King to reform 
the abuses which had grown out of the infamous 
government of his bad mother and her favorite 
Mortimer ; and she set herself to the work of 
improving the condition of the common people by 
introducing manufactories into England. Never 
before had woollen cloth been made in that king- 
dom. She encouraged art and literature also, and 
was the friend and patroness of poets. 

Edward, brave and generous as he was, had a 
quick and stormy temper, and sometimes did cruel 
things, in the heat of passion, when away from 
Philippa. But that gentle Queen, when beside her 
stern lord, never failed to plead with him to be mer- 
ciful and forgiving. She displayed this goodness 
and love of mercy on the occasion of an accident 



82 YORK MINSTER 

that happened at a great tournament given to 
celebrate the birth of her son Edward, afterwards 
the heroic " Black Prince." A temporary scaffold- 
ing fell to the ground, with the Queen and all her 
ladies. Nobody was killed, and very few were hurt ; 
but there was a prodigious shrieking and confusion 
— those who were quite unharmed screaming the 
loudest, of course. 

King Edward, seeing what danger his beloved 
wife had been in, flew into a terrible rage, and 
vowed that the carpenter who built the scaffold 
should instantly be put to death ; but Queen 
Philippa, though still pale and trembling from the 
fright of her fall, threw herself at the feet of her 
husband and begged him to spare the poor man's 
life ; and Edward yielded to her prayer. 

Queen Philippa was seldom separated from her 
husband, but faithfully accompanied him in his 
journeys, wars, and cruises, bravely choosing to 
share in all his toils and dangers. 

At length, however, the King left her in charge 
of the kingdom while he went to make war upon 
France. He took with him Prince Edward, who 
was but sixteen years of age, but who won much 
glory at the great battle of Cressy. 



QUEEN PHILIPPA 83 

King David, of Scotland, took this opportunity 
to come down upon England with a mighty army ; 
but Queen Philippa collected her forces and met 
him at Newcastle upon Tyne. After her men were 
drawn up in order of battle she rode among them, 
mounted on her white charger, and entreated them 
to do their duty to her and their absent King and 
to fight manfully for their country. She then com- 
mended them to the protection of God, and retired 
from the battle-field to pray for their success ; for, 
brave as she was, Queen Philippa was no fighter, 
and shrank from the sight of blood and carnage. 

The English were victorious, and took the war- 
like King David prisoner. After Philippa had got 
him lodged safely in the Tower of London she set 
sail for France, to join her husband at his camp 
before the town of Calais, which he had been be- 
sieging for several months. 

And now comes the most beautiful incident in 
the life of Queen Philippa. 

The defenders of Calais became at last so reduced 
by famine that they were obliged to capitulate. At 
first Edward declared he would put them all to death ; 
but his councillor, Sir Walter Maunay, pleaded with 
him till he softened somewhat and said, — 



84 YORK MINSTER 

"Tell the Governor of Calais that the garrison 
and inhabitants shall be pardoned, excepting six of 
the principal citizens, who must surrender them- 
selves to death, and come forth, with ropes round 
their necks, bare-headed and bare-footed, bringing 
the keys of the town and castle in their hands." 

When Sir Walter bore this message to the 
Governor of Calais, he caused the bell to be rung, 
which called all the inhabitants together in the 
town-hall. He then related to them, with many 
tears, the hard sentence of the King of England. 
It was received with groans and cries of grief and 
despair. But, after a short pause, the most wealthy 
citizen of Calais, named Eustace St. Pierre, rose 
and said, " Gentlemen, both high and low : it would 
be a pity to let so many of our countrymen die of 
famine ; it would be highly meritorious in the eyes 
of our Savior if such misery could be prevented. 
If I die to serve my dear townsmen, I trust I shall 
find grace before the tribunal of God. I name my- 
self first of the six." 

When Eustace had done speaking, his fellow- 
citizens threw themselves at his feet, weeping and 
blessing him. Then another rich citizen rose and 
offered himself ; then another, another, another ; 




Queen Philippa begged 
him to spare the lives of those men 



85 



86 YORK MINSTER 

and finally the young son of St. Pierre threw him- 
self into his father's arms and entreated to be suf- 
fered to die with him ; and so the number was 
made up. They were delivered by the governor to 
Sir Walter Maunay, who conducted them to the 
pavilion of the King, when they knelt before him, 
saying that they came to die for the sake of their 
fellow-citizens. The poor men looked so pale and 
starved, and yet so brave and noble, that even the 
stern English knights and barons wept and pleaded 
for them, Sir Walter most of all. But King Edward 
hated the people of Calais for the great losses they 
had made him suffer by sea and by land ; so he 
ordered that the headsman should do his duty at 
once. Then Queen Philippa flung herself at his 
feet and clasped his knees, and begged him, as 
a proof of his love for her, and for the blessed 
Savior's sake, to spare the lives of those six men. 

As King Edward looked down into her tearful 
face, his own face grew soft and tender ; for he 
remembered how she had looked when in her beau- 
tiful girlhood she had stood by his side at the altar 
in York Minster ; so he lifted her up and kissed 
her, and said, " Ah, lady, I wish you had been any 
where else than here ; but you have so entreated 



QUEEN PHILIPPA 87 

that I cannot refuse you. I give the men to you : 
do as you please with them." 

Then the Queen conducted the six citizens to 
her apartments, had the halters taken from their 
necks, had them clad in handsome clothes and 
served with a plentiful dinner. Then she made 
each of them a present and sent them home with 
an honorable escort. I do not believe that these 
men ever went to bed after that day without pray- 
ing for the good Queen Philippa, or blessing her 
memory. 

There were many other beautiful acts and inci- 
dents in the history of Philippa of Hainault which 
I should like to tell you if I had space for them ; 
but I have not. 

Through all her life she was amiable, virtuous, 
and useful — tenderly beloved by her husband and 
children, and revered by her grateful people ; so, 
when God sent his angel Death to lead her gently 
away from an earthly kingdom and lift from her 
head its earthly crown, it was that she might enter 
into his kingdom of rest and wear the crown of his 
immortality. 



LONDON AND THE TOWER 

SIR WALTER RALEIGH 




On the evening of June 24 I first entered London. 
Coming up from Coventry by the railway, I could 
see little of the great city till I was in the midst of 
it. I only remember seeing in the distance a great 
cloud of smoke overhanging a dim, vast multitude 
of houses, towers, and spires ; then, as we drew 
nearer and the darkness deepened, hosts of lights, 
as innumerable as though all the stars had dropped 
out of heaven, began to twinkle, and flash, and throb, 
and waver ; and then, above the clang of the en- 
gine and the rush of the train, I could hear a 
strange, dull, unceasing roar. This was the noise 
of the travel and traffic of London — sounds that 

9 1 



92 LONDON AND THE TOWER 

are neve*r wholly hushed, but in the daytime thunder 
like torrents and cataracts, and in the night come 
to your ear with a hoarse, heavy swell, like the 
beating of the sea against a far, rocky shore. 

In truth there was something almost frightful in 
this first rush, and roar, and vastness of London 
to me, coming to it as I did at night. But when 
I found myself in a beautiful station roofed with 
glass and cheerfully lighted, and met there a kind 
friend who was awaiting me, I took heart at once ; 
and when, an hour later, I sat with my dear friends, 
the L s, in their pleasant drawing room, chat- 
ting and drinking tea, I felt as contented and happy 
as I had ever felt in my life. 

I was several weeks in London on this first visit, 
and during that time I saw many people — authors 
and artists, and statesmen and philanthropists — 
whom I had long loved or honored for their works 
and their noble deeds ; and I saw others, of whom 
I had hardly heard before, whom I learned to love 
and honor with all my heart. 

It will not be possible for me to describe to you 
all the great sights of London ; but I will tell you 
something of the most noted. 



SIR WALTER RALEIGH 93 

The Tower 

This famous fortress and ancient palace stands 
on the north bank of the Thames, just beyond the 
limits of the city. It is a large, irregular building, 
of dark-gray stone, with four corner turrets and 
two entrances — one by a bridge over the moat, 
and the other by a gateway from the river. This 
last is called the Traitor's Gate, as state prisoners 
were obliged to pass through it. The older portion 
of the tower was built by William the Conqueror ; 
but nearly every succeeding sovereign, down to a 
recent reign, made additions and improvements. It 
passed from a palace into a fortress, from a fortress 
to a prison ; and now it is used only as an armory 
and a safe depository of state papers, rare and 
curious relics, and the crown jewels, called the 
Regalia. 

Near where visitors now enter, the royal menag- 
erie was kept until it was removed to the Zoological 
Gardens. Here King James I. once witnessed a 
fight between a lion and three dogs, and seemed 
highly amused by the sport. If we were not talk- 
ing of a crowned King, I should say he showed 
very cruel and vulgar propensities. 



94 LONDON AND THE TOWER 

In the Bell Tower the Princess — afterwards 
Queen — Elizabeth is supposed to have been con- 
fined. She was imprisoned by the order of her 
sister, Queen Mary, on the charge of treason, of 
which she was quite innocent. When the stern 
guards brought her to the Traitor's Gate she 
refused to land there ; but, when they roughly 
reminded her that she had no choice, she stepped 
proudly up on to the stair, and said, solemnly, — 

" Here landeth as true a subject, being a pris- 
oner, as ever landed at these stairs ; and before 
thee, O God, I speak it, having none other friends 
than thee." 

Opposite to the Traitor's Gate is the Bloody 
Tower — so called because it is believed that in it 
the poor young princes, sons of Edward IV., were 
murdered by the order of their cruel uncle, the 
Duke of Gloucester, afterwards Richard III. 

In the Beauchamp Tower Lord Dudley, the hus- 
band of Lady Jane Grey, Robert Dudley, Earl of 
Leicester, and many other eminent prisoners were 
confined. The Lady Jane was imprisoned in the 
Brick Tower. The Bowyer Tower is said to have 
been the scene of the murder of the Duke of Clar- 
ence by order of his brother, Richard of Gloucester. 



SIR WALTER RALEIGH 95 

There is a long apartment called the Horse 
Armory, where I saw a great many figures of 
knights clad in complete suits of mail, mounted 
and armed. These figures represent the fashions 
and the monarchs or great men of every reign back 
to that of the first Edward. It is a very interest- 
ing hall, but not so much so as the one in the 
White Tower, called Queen Elizabeth's Armory. 
This contains a vast variety of curious old weapons 
of warfare, such as battle-axes, lances, pikes, pon- 
derous broadswords, halberds, glaives, and cross- 
bows. Here is kept the beheading block, darkly 
stained with blood and cut by many a deadly blow. 
Beside it leans the headsman's axe, now blunt and 
rusty, but which was doubtless keen and bright 
when it severed the proud head of the Earl of 
Essex from his body and struck through the slen- 
der neck of poor Anne Boleyn. But more dreadful 
to behold even than these are the • instruments of 
torture. These are horrible weapons and machines 
used to extort confessions from criminals and sus- 
pected persons. The sight of them made me shud- 
der and grow faint ; the thought of them has ever 
since been painful to me ; so, if you please, we will 
talk of other things. 



96 LONDON AND THE TOWER 

At the farther end of this hall there is a figure 
of Queen Elizabeth on horseback, dressed as she 
was when she went to St. Paul's to return thanks 
for the destruction of the Spanish Armada which 
had been sent against England. 

Out of this hall opens the gloomy little room in 
which Sir Walter Raleigh was confined during his 
long imprisonment in the reign of James I. 

And now I will tell you some stories of the 
Tower, beginning with a brief life of 

Sir Walter Raleigh 

Walter Raleigh was the younger son of an ancient 
and honorable family, who lived at a fine old 
country seat called Fardell, near Plymouth. He 
was born in 1552. At an early age he showed 
such extraordinary talent that his father, who was 
an excellent scholar, educated him very carefully, 
and took much pride in the wonderful advances he 
made in all branches of learning. At the age of 
sixteen he entered Oxford, where he soon gained 
a great reputation for scholarship. But in a little 
more than a year he left college and entered the 
army, having volunteered to join a noble expedition 



SIR WALTER RALEIGH 97 

fitted out by the order of Queen Elizabeth to aid 
the persecuted Huguenots in France. 

Like a good son, he first returned home to re- 
ceive his father's blessing and his mother's fare- 
well kiss. His proud father gave him a fervent 
benediction ; his gentle mother kissed him tenderly ; 
and when she had followed him down to the court- 
yard, and seen him mount his fiery steed and ride 
away with his pretty page and faithful esquire, she 
ascended to her chamber in a turret and watched 
him from the window as long as she could see the 
waving of his white plume, and wept and prayed 
for him, and then sat alone a long time, thinking 
of all the pleasant past, and wondering if her dar- 
ling son would come back to her from the wars un- 
changed, still her own good, beautiful boy — if she 
would ever see him again. 

Walter Raleigh was abroad on this dangerous 
and toilsome service five years. Then, after a visit 
to his home, he made a campaign in the Nether- 
lands, and the next year embarked on his first 
voyage to America with his half-brother, Sir Hum- 
phrey Gilbert. They unluckily encountered a large 
Spanish fleet, and were defeated. Walter reached 
England just in time to head an expedition to 



98 LONDON AND THE TOWER 

Ireland to put down an insurrection raised by the 
intriguing Spaniards. Here he was successful, and 
so distinguished himself by his bravery that he was 
appointed to the government of Munster and Cork. 

But matters becoming too quiet in Ireland to suit 
his restless, daring spirit, he returned to England, 
and went to court, "to seek his fortune," as they 
say in old fairy stories. 

He was then a remarkably handsome and accom- 
plished gentleman, with elegant manners and a great 
taste for splendid dress. 

For some time he did not succeed in his object, 
as he was not very wealthy and had no great friend 
to present him to the Queen. But Fortune favored 
him at last. One day he was so lucky as to meet 
her majesty walking out with her courtiers and 
ladies. The Queen was magnificently dressed in 
satin and velvet, and, as usual, was loaded with 
costly jewels. Around her neck was a stiff ruff of 
rich lace, full a foot wide ; and her hair, of a red- 
dish yellow, — called by the court poets "golden," 
— was confined by a net of pearls and diamonds. 

It was Raleigh's first view of the Queen. He 
was quite awe-struck by her grand manner, and so 
dazzled by her gorgeous dress as almost to think 




Setting her foot on the cloak, she 
daintily walked over it to the dry ground 



99 



100 LONDON AND THE TOWER 

her beautiful. His brave heart, that had never 
failed him in battle or on the stormy seas, now 
fluttered wildly in his breast like a frightened bird. 
Such was English loyalty in the olden time. 

It had been showery that morning, and a little 
pool of water lay just across her majesty's path. 
As she came to this she paused, not being willing 
to spoil her gold-wrought slippers or risk getting 
a cold. Just as her minister, Lord Burleigh, was 
advising her to turn back and take another path, 
Walter Raleigh stepped forward, and, bowing very 
low, took from his shoulders his new court cloak 
of purple plush and spread it over the muddy 
place. The Queen smiled graciously on the young 
stranger ; for she was pleased with his gallantry 
and ready wit, and not displeased with his elegant 
air and handsome face ; then, setting her foot on 
the cloak, she daintily walked over it to the dry 
ground. 

After she and her gay train had passed by, Raleigh 
took up his fine new cloak, now quite ruined. But 
almost as soon as that mud dried it seemed to turn 
to gold dust for him ; for his gallant act won the 
kind regard of the Queen ; and that brought 
fortune. 



SIR WALTER RALEIGH IOI 

One day, being in one of the halls of the palace, 
he wrote on the glass of the window, with his dia- 
mond ring, the following line : — 

" Fain would I climb ; but yet I fear to fall." 

Elizabeth observed him ; and the next morning, 
much to his surprise and joy, he found this line, 
written underneath his, in the Queen's own 
hand : — 

" If thy heart fail thee, do not climb at all." 

From this time Raleigh knew that Queen Eliza- 
beth was disposed to befriend him, and he rapidly 
rose to the highest favor. For a while he was very 
happy, and I am afraid a little proud. It seemed to 
him to be a grand thing to be one of that great 
Queen's chosen friends ; to have her confide in him, 
ask his advice, and praise his wisdom and eloquence ; 
to receive titles and honors, to dress splendidly and 
live sumptuously, and be followed and flattered by 
a crowd of courtiers almost like a reigning prince. 

He went down to Fardell about this time for a 
little visit, where he talked a great deal of the 
Queen and the great people at her court ; and 
everybody wondered and admired, and was dazzled 
and delighted, except his mother. She was strangely 



102 LONDON AND THE TOWER 

sad and anxious ; for she feared that this sudden 
favor and fortune would excite envy and ill-will, 
and that his own bold, adventurous spirit would 
bring on trouble and reverses. And then — though 
he was still good and loving — she saw that his old 
home-looks and ways were gone. She did not take 
to his fine court dress ; and the night after he 
went away she unlocked an old chest and took out 
a faded school-boy suit, which he had worn when 
he first went away from home, and wept over it, 
and felt that the great world had indeed got her 
dear boy away from her, and that she could never, 
never have him back again. 

After a while Walter Raleigh found that these 
same flattering courtiers were his secret enemies, 
plotting against him. He became restless and un- 
comfortable, and set out on another voyage. He 
was again unsuccessful, but no wise discouraged, 
and in the following year fitted out two ships and 
sailed for the New World. 

It was Raleigh, I grieve to say, who first intro- 
duced the savage habit of smoking into civilized 
society ; for it was on his return from this voyage 
that tobacco was first brought to England. It is 
related that one morning, shortly after he reached 



SIR WALTER RALEIGH 103 

home, his servant coming into his library with a 
foaming tankard of ale, on seeing him sitting in a 
cloud of tobacco-smoke was so frightened by the 
strange sight that he threw the ale at his head to 
extinguish him, and, rushing down stairs, pro- 
claimed that his master was on fire. 

For several years Raleigh continued to make 
voyages of discovery and conquest, and gained 
great treasure and honor for himself and his coun- 
try. Queen Elizabeth was grateful to him : she 
knighted him, and bestowed upon him new offices 
of trust and large estates. 

Sir Walter Raleigh, as we will now call him, con- 
tinued to be noble and upright, and never used his 
influence with his sovereign except for good and 
just purposes. He was honest and independent, 
and, whenever he differed from the Queen in opin- 
ion, told her so frankly. He so often interceded 
with her for those whom he thought unjustly 
imprisoned or condemned that she once exclaimed, 
impatiently, — 

" Sir Walter, when will you cease to be a 
beggar ? " 

"When your majesty ceases to be a benefac- 
tress," he answered. 



104 LONDON AND THE TOWER 

Yet, for all the Queen's partiality for him, she 
was fearfully angry at his presuming to love and 
woo, without asking her consent, one of her maids 
of honor, the beautiful Elizabeth Throckmorton, 
and imprisoned him and his wife for several months 
in the Tower. 

But she afterwards pardoned them, and again 
showered smiles and wealth upon Sir Walter. I 
do not know whether, with such a beautiful young 
wife, he cared very much for the elderly Queen's 
smiles ; but money never came amiss to him ; for 
he lived very extravagantly, and had almost as 
great a passion for costly dress as Queen Eliza- 
beth herself. He tilted in silver armor ; his sword 
and belt were set with diamonds, pearls, and rubies, 
and on great occasions he appeared at court wear- 
ing thirty thousand pounds' worth of jewels. 

For the next eight or nine years Sir Walter 
Raleigh's life was full of successes, conquests, and 
honors ; but after the death of Queen Elizabeth 
all went badly with him. His enemies influenced 
James I. against him ; and he was so slandered 
and persecuted that he joined in a wild conspiracy 
to place the Lady Arabella Stuart on the throne. 
For this he was arrested, tried, and sentenced to 



SIR WALTER RALEIGH 105 

death. The King, however, reprieved him, but kept 
him imprisoned in the Tower for twelve years. Here 
it was that Sir Walter Raleigh best proved that he 
was a great and good man. He did not sink down 
in sullen despair and mope away his melancholy 
days, but went to work diligently and cheerfully 
for the good of the world. He wrote several noble 
works, and showed himself to be a rare scholar, a 
philosopher, an historian, and a poet. 

At length he was released, but not formally par- 
doned. He found himself poor, forsaken by his old 
friends, and still persecuted by his foes. Yet his 
great courageous heart did not fail. He undertook 
a new voyage to Guiana — King James granting 
him a commission, in the hope of his bringing back 
much treasure. But through treachery, and the 
folly of James himself in revealing the secret of 
the expedition to the Spanish minister, Raleigh suf- 
fered a disastrous defeat. In an unequal fight with 
the Spanish forces he lost his beloved eldest son. 
Returning almost heart-broken to England, Sir 
Walter was again arrested and committed to the 
Tower. 

A set of wicked old judges, who only cared to 
decide as the King wished, and forgot that God 



106 LONDON AND THE TOWER 

would judge them, decided that the sentence of 
death pronounced upon him fifteen years ago was 
still in force, and should be executed. Sir Walter 
defended himself with wonderful eloquence ; but it 
was of no use. He was again condemned, and the 
very next day was led to the scaffold. He died 
grandly as a brave soldier, but meekly as a true 
Christian. After addressing the multitude, he took 
the axe from the headsman and felt its edge, say- 
ing, " 'Tis a sharp medicine, but a sure cure for all 
ills." He laid his head upon the block as calmly 
as though it were a pillow, and commended his soul 
to God as serenely as though saying his nightly 
prayer. The headsman was so touched with rev- 
erence and pity that he hesitated to do his dread- 
ful duty. Seeing this, Sir Walter said, " Strike, 
man — strike!" And he struck. 
. When that noble head — grown gray in toil and 
study, care and hardship — rolled upon the scaffold, 
a dismal groan went up from the crowd. Only 
selfish and ambitious courtiers had envied and 
hated Raleigh ; the people had always loved and 
honored him ; and many there were that wept for 
him that day and prayed that his soul might rest 
in God. 



SIR WALTER RALEIGH 107 

On the night before his execution Sir Walter 
Raleigh wrote a very affecting letter to his be- 
loved wife, with some portions of which I will close 
this history : — 

" You shall receive, my dear wife, my last words 
in these my last lines. My love I send you, that 
you may keep it when I am dead ; and my counsel, 
that you may remember it when I am no more. 

" I would not, with my will, present you sorrows, 
dear Bess : let them go to the grave with me and 
be buried in the dust. And, seeing that it is not 
the will of God that I shall see you any more, bear 
my destruction patiently and with a heart like 
yourself. 

" First, I send you all the thanks that my heart 
can conceive or my words express for your many 
labors and cares for me, which though they have 
not taken effect as you wished, my debt to you is 
not the less ; but pay it I never shall in this world. 

" Secondly, I beseech you, for the love you bear 
me living, do not hide yourself many days, but by 
your labors seek to help the miserable fortunes of 
your poor child. 



108 LONDON AND THE TOWER 

" To what friend to direct you I know not ; for 
mine have left me in the true time of trial. Most 
sorry am I that, being thus surprised by death, I can 
leave you no better estate. God hath prevented all 
my determinations — that great God who worketh 
all in all ; and, if you can live free from want, care 
for no more ; for the rest is vanity. Love God : in 
him you shall find true and endless comfort. Teach 
your son also to serve God whilst he is young, that 
the fear of God may grow up in him ; then will God 
be a husband to you and a father to him — a hus- 
band and a father that can never be taken from you. 

" Dear wife, I beseech you pay all poor men. 
. . . Remember your poor child for his father's 
sake, who loved you in his happiest estate. I sued 
for my life ; but it was for you and yours that I 
desired it ; for know it, dear wife, your child is the 
son of a true man, who in his own respect despiseth 
Death and his misshapen and ugly forms. 

" I cannot write much. God knows how hardly 
I steal this time when all sleep ; and it is also time 
for me to separate my thoughts from the world. 

" Beg my dead body, which living was denied 
you, and either lay it in Sherbourne, or in Exeter 
church, by my father and mother. 



SIR WALTER RALEIGH 109 

" I can say no more. Time and death call me 
away. The everlasting God, powerful, infinite, and 
inscrutable, God Almighty, who is goodness itself, 
the true light and life, keep you and yours, and 
have mercy on me, and forgive my persecutors and 
false accusers, and send us to meet in his glorious 
kingdom. My dear wife, farewell ! Bless my boy, 
pray for me, and let my true God hold you both in 
his arms. 

" Yours that was, but now not my own, 

"Walter Raleigh." 



THE TOWER (Continued) 

LADIES JANE AND CATHARINE 
GREY 




On a pleasant morning in 
the merry month of May, 
when the scent of the blos- 
soming hawthorn filled all the 
air of England with delicious sweetness, and roses, 
violets, and honeysuckles seemed striving which 
should look the most beautiful and make the most 
fragrance, two little girls were sitting under the 
shade of a laurel tree, near the basin of a fountain, 
in the garden of a grand old country residence 
called Bradgate, in Leicestershire. The names of 
these two young misses were Jane and Catharine 

IJ 3 



114 THE TOWER 



Grey. They were the daughters of the Marquis of 
Dorset, — afterwards Duke of Suffolk, — and Lady 
Frances Brandon, who belonged to the royal family, 
being a niece of Henry VIII. So, little girls as 
they were, they bore the title of Lady. 

The eldest, Lady Jane, was about twelve years 
of age ■ — Lady Catharine a year or two younger. 
Both were beautiful and amiable, but very unlike. 
The Lady Jane was quiet, thoughtful, and remark- 
ably fond of study ; while the Lady Catharine was 
a restless, fearless, light-hearted child, who loved 
many things better than she loved her books. 
Lady Jane was always happy when at hard study, 
or receiving instruction from her masters, espe- 
cially from her favorite tutor, the good and learned 
Roger Ascham, under whose teaching and guidance 
she became celebrated for her learning in the lan- 
guages, sciences, and religion. She was an earnest 
Protestant, and was always able to give a reason 
for the faith she professed. 

The Lady Catharine, though a good and docile 
pupil, fell far behind her sister in her attainments. 
She could hardly be said to have been fond of 
study ; but she endured it very well. In truth, 
like a few little girls in our own country and time, 



LADIES JANE AND CATHARINE GREY 115 

she often preferred play to books. She had such 
a passion for the open air, the wooded park, the 
breezy downs, the murmur of winds among the 
trees, the wild melody of the birds, the plash of 
fountains, the tinkle of pebbly brooks, the glow of 
sunshine, and the beauty of flowers, that her school- 
room too often seemed to her a dreary, weary place 
of confinement ; and she used to pity herself, as a 
poor helpless prisoner in the dungeons of the cruel 
giant "Useful Knowledge," and think herself very 
hardly used indeed. Alas ! the time came when she 
better knew what imprisonment was. 

This was the morning of a holiday. Lady 
Catharine had been running about the garden and 
grounds, chasing butterflies, mocking the birds, 
and dancing to the dash of the waterfall ; and now 
she had just returned with her arms full of roses, 
lilies, and glossy laurel leaves ; and flinging herself 
down, all flushed and panting, upon a bank of 
violets by the side of her grave sister, she ex- 
claimed, half petulantly, half lovingly, — 

" I prithee, Jane, lay aside that tiresome Greek 
book. Thou will mope thyself to death over thy 
dull old Plato. Certes, sister, I marvel much thy 
tender conscience will allow thee to so batter 



Il6 THE TOWER 



thy poor brains and waste thy precious time over 
knotty heathen philosophies." 

The Lady Jane shook her head reprovingly, as 
she replied, — 

" Ah, Kate ! Kate ! thou art a froward and a 
naughty child to speak thus saucily of the ' divine 
Plato,' as Master Roger Ascham nameth him." 

" Master Roger Ascham," said Lady Catharine, 
" is tiresome too ; and Master Harding and Master 
Aylmer are also exceeding dull and prosy. I would 
that thou and I and our cousin Edward had never 
seen a word of Greek or Latin, but could barely 
read and write our own homely English. Methinks 
we should then have been freer and merrier, and 
led sensible, Christian lives, like — like — the birds 
and the deer." 

"Sister," said the Lady Jane, gravely, " me- 
thinks it is time thou shouldst speak less famil- 
iarly of the King's majesty, the high and mighty 
Edward VI." 

"Why, sister dear," said Lady Catharine, with a 
proud toss of her pretty head, " is he not our cousin ? 
and are we not also of royal blood ? I ween the 
honor is not all on our side. Thou mayst ' King's 
majesty ' him as much as it pleaseth thee ; but as 



LADIES JANE AND CATHARINE GREY 117 

for me, I will say ' our cousin Edward ' till he does 
an unprincely act, and then I will disown him." 

" Thou wilt, wilt thou ? Marry, thou hast a bold 
spirit, coz ! " exclaimed a pleasant voice behind 
them. Both started, looked round, and blushed. 
Then Lady Jane rose suddenly and bent one knee 
in joyful homage ; but the wilful Lady Catharine 
only bowed her head till its golden curls fell over 
her laughing eyes, and pointed to her lap full of 
flowers as an excuse for not rising. 

The visitor was the young King, Edward VI. 
It was in the second year of his reign, and he 
was about eleven years of age. He was a slender, 
delicate boy, with a mild, thoughtful face, and 
nothing very kingly in his appearance except his 
dress, which was extremely costly and elegant. In 
his early childhood he had often visited and played 
with his cousins, the Ladies Jane and Catharine 
Grey ; and when he was called to the throne by 
the death of his father, Henry VIII., he still con- 
tinued his friendship, preferring them to his proud 
sisters, the Princesses Mary and Elizabeth. Now, 
having made a formal visit to their noble parents, 
he had chosen to search for them in the garden un- 
attended. He found them without much difficulty ; 



Il8 THE TOWER 



for even titled little girls — little girls with royal 
blood in their veins — do not always laugh and talk 
as softly as they should. 

The boy-king first gallantly lifted the Lady Jane 
and kissed her on both cheeks ; then he kissed 
Lady Catharine and pinched her ear, saying that 
she was the sauciest Kate in all his kingdom ; and 
then he seated himself between the sisters and 
began talking in a grand, lofty style, which Lady 
Jane thought very proper for a monarch, but which 
rather amused Lady Catharine. He complained 
that the cares of state, and the pomp, forms, and 
labors of royalty, so absorbed him that he had little 
time for recreation — scarce two hours in the day 
to give to his old favorites — Cicero, and Plato, 
and Virgil. And then he asked how his fair cousins 
got on with their classics. 

"Well and ill," answered Lady Catharine; 
" sister the first, I the last. In sooth she does 
not miss thee in her study half so grievously as 
I miss thee in my play ; for thou wert right blithe 
of heart and mirthsome of speech ere thou didst 
become a great King." 

As Lady Catharine said this she looked up 
at the slender boy in an arch, quizzical way he 



LADIES JANE AND CATHARINE GREY 119 

didn't quite like. So, to turn the talk from him- 
self, he said, — 

" Prithee, Kate, what art thou weaving of those 
flowers?" 

" Marry, royal cousin, a wreath for our grave 
Lady Jane, to make her look blither for our holi- 
day ; and, now it is finished, thou thyself shalt 
crown her." 

"I' faith, right willingly will we assist at the 
coronation of so fair a queen of the May," said 
the King ; and taking the wreath, woven of roses, 
lilies, and laurels, he lightly laid it on the brow 
of his cousin. But it proved to be much too large 
for her delicate head, and, being very heavy, slid 
down over her face and hung about her neck. 

The three children laughed at first ; but when 
King Edward, in removing the wreath, accident- 
ally wounded his cousin with a sharp thorn hid 
among the roses, which made a cruel scratch 
across her white throat, they all became serious. 

The thoughtful Lady Jane, while wiping away 
the blood, moralized about crowns being perilous 
things, till she saw that King Edward looked a 
little uncomfortable, when she dropped the sub- 
ject and took up Plato ; and presently the two 



120 THE TOWER 



young pedants were deep into a solemn Greek dis- 
course, and made believe they understood it all 
and liked it as well as though it were an English 
ballad or a fairy tale ; but I very much doubt if 
they did. 

Lady Catharine wandered off by herself wher- 
ever the sunshine seemed the brightest or the birds 
sang sweetest. Suddenly, at a turning of a shel- 
tered garden walk, she met two gay young courtiers 
belonging to the King's suite. They were saunter- 
ing idly along, with their gilded spurs jingling and 
their jewelled swords clanging at their sides. The 
younger, who was a bold, reckless boy, seeing the 
Lady Catharine unattended, and not knowing her, 
started forward and addressed her in a light, 
familiar tone. But his companion drew him aside, 
and, lifting his own richly-plumed hat, bowed low 
as the frightened girl passed quickly by ; though 
neither did he know that she was a titled lady. If 
he had thought that she was only the gardener's 
daughter it would have been all the same. Some 
years after Lady Catharine Grey knew both these 
young noblemen. The elder was the Earl of Hert- 
ford ; and the younger was Lord Herbert, son of 
the Earl of Pembroke. 



LADIES JANE AND CATHARINE GREY 121 

As Lady Jane Grey grew towards womanhood 
she retained her love of study and became more 
and more famous for her learning. Her masters 
said that she spoke French, Italian, Latin, and 
Greek with astonishing fluency, and read He- 
brew, Chaldee, and Arabic. But you know we 
can make some allowance for masters. Those 
worthy men may have been tempted, for their 
own credit as tutors, to make her out a greater 
prodigy than she was. They may have merely 
introduced her to some of those venerable old 
tongues, if they did not throw in a language or 
two in making up the list. But, without doubt, 
she was a very learned young lady for those 
times, and, what was better, very amiable, pious, 
and benevolent. Poor people loved her, and the 
great people of the court honored her — a good 
deal on her own account, but mostly because the 
King set the fashion. 

As for Lady Catharine, she continued the same 
proud, wayward, mirthful girl till great sorrows 
bowed her brave spirit and saddened her merry 
heart. 

At the age of sixteen Lady Jane Grey was 
married to Lord Guilford Dudley, son of the Duke 



122 THE TOWER 



of Northumberland. The wedding was one of 
great pomp and splendor ; and every body said 
that so beautiful a bride and bridegroom had never 
been seen at the English court. On the same day 
the Lady Catharine was betrothed — against her 
will I hope — to Lord Herbert, son of the Earl of 
Pembroke. 

Lord Guilford Dudley was very young, but a 
brave and gallant nobleman ; and Lady Jane loved 
him fondly, and looked forward to many happy 
years as his wife. But her father-in-law, the ambi- 
tious Duke of Northumberland, had other views 
for her. 

That very year the health of King Edward, 
which had never been very robust, began to de- 
cline alarmingly fast. The gentle boy was very 
much under the control of his favorite adviser, 
the Duke of Northumberland, and by him was 
persuaded to make a will setting aside the rights 
of his sisters, Mary and Elizabeth, and appointing 
his beloved cousin, Lady Jane Grey, his successor 
to the throne. 

The young King did this, not because he was 
wanting in affection for his sisters, but because he 
thought that Lady Jane, being an enlightened 



LADIES JANE AND CATHARINE GREY 123 

Protestant, would be a better sovereign for the 
English people than the Princess Mary, who was 
a Catholic — or the Princess Elizabeth, in whose 
religious principles he had little confidence. 

On the 6th of July, 1553, the amiable young 
King died at his palace at Greenwich. Two days 
later the Duke of Northumberland and other great 
Lords waited on the Lady Jane at Sion House to 
inform her of his majesty's death, to acquaint her 
with his last will, and to offer her the crown and 
sceptre, hailing her as the Queen of England. 

At the first announcement, the poor, timid girl 
was so overcome by surprise, grief, and terror that 
she fainted and fell to the ground. 

Her father raised her and placed her on a chair 
of state ; and as soon as she had revived all knelt 
in homage before her, while Northumberland rever- 
ently proffered her the crown. This she refused 
again and again with tears and strong protestations, 
though her proud mother wept, and her stern 
father commanded, and Northumberland argued 
and stormed. But when her husband stepped 
forward and took her hand, and looked pleadingly 
into her eyes, and begged that she would accept 
the crown for his sake, and when they promised 



124 THE TOWER 



her that he should have a seat beside her on the 
throne and share in all the power and glory of 
royalty, she felt her loving heart give way, and 
said, sadly, " Do with me as thou wilt ; but, O 
Guilford, my soul misgiveth me that no good will 
come of such as I aspiring to so high an estate. 
If you love me truly, sweet friends, you will rather 
wish me a secure and quiet fortune, though mean, 
than an exalted condition, exposed to the tempests, 
and to be followed by some dismal fall." Then, sink- 
ing on her knees, clasping her hands, and raising her 
tearful eyes towards heaven, she said, fervently, — 

" If the right be truly mine, O gracious God, 
give me strength, I pray most earnestly, so to rule 
as to promote thy honor and my country's good." 

On the very same day that Jane was proclaimed 
Queen in London, Mary was proclaimed at Nor- 
wich. Then commenced the struggle and the fight- 
ing. For a while it was doubtful which of the two 
the people would favor. The majority would have 
probably preferred a Protestant sovereign ; but the 
English people have always had a remarkable rever- 
ence for Kings, and the children of Kings, and for 
the blood royal, where it runs richest and thickest ; 
and so the Princess Mary, daughter of that kingly 




All knelt in homage before her while Northumberland 
proffered her the crown 

125 



126 THE TOWER 



Bluebeard, Henry VIII., and Katharine of Aragon, 
carried it over simple Lady Jane, daughter of 
Henry Grey and Frances Brandon. After a troubled 
reign of ten days, Queen Jane was informed by her 
father that her cause was lost — that she must 
lay down her crown, take off her royal robes, and 
retire to private life. 

Lady Jane received this news meekly, almost 
joyfully ; returned to Sion House with her hus- 
band, and began again to dream of a happy life of 
love, and peace, and usefulness. Alas ! it was never 
to be in this world. 

By Queen Mary's command, she was soon after 
arrested and committed to the Tower. Her hus- 
band, her father, the Duke of Northumberland, 
and many other friends were also imprisoned there. 
Of these all were pardoned except Northumberland 
and " Guilford Dudley and his wife," as Queen Mary 
slightingly called them. The two last were kept 
in separate and strict confinement for nearly eight 
months, when the Queen signed their death warrant. 

The Lady Jane bore all the sorrow and humilia- 
tion of her lot with the utmost patience and sweet- 
ness. On the last night of her life, when two 
learned bishops came, with a forlorn hope of 



LADIES JANE AND CATHARINE GREY 127 

converting her, she astonished them by the clear- 
ness of her reason, the wisdom of her arguments, 
and the serenity and meek confidence of her spirit. 

Lord Guilford had obtained the Queen's consent 
to a last interview with his wife that night ; but 
she declined to see him, for fear that the dreadful 
parting would overcome the fortitude of both. But, 
to cheer his poor heart, she reminded him that 
the separation would be but for a very little while, 
and then they would meet in a world where dis- 
appointment, suffering, and death would never, 
never come to interrupt their wedded happiness. 

She wrote a farewell letter to her sister Cath- 
arine, in the Greek language, on the flyleaf of her 
Testament. Then she prayed and composed herself 
to sleep, that she might be calm and strong in the 
morning. God's angels ministered to her, so that 
she slept peacefully, and dreamed of her home and 
her mother, instead of the axe and the headsman. 

Lord Guilford Dudley was first led to execution. 
From her grated window his wife saw him go forth 
from the Tower to death, and thought of that 
proud but fatal day on which he had first entered 
it, in pomp and splendor, by her side, when she 
came to be proclaimed Queen from that ancient 



128 THE TOWER 



prison-palace. Now the poor youth looked pale 
and wasted, and his eyes were swollen with weep- 
ing ; but he ascended the scaffold with a firm tread, 
and died with heroic calmness and resignation. 

The Lady Jane was executed within the court 
of the Tower. From the scaffold she briefly ad- 
dressed the people. She admitted that she had 
erred in accepting the crown, but solemnly declared 
that she had meant no evil, but sought to do what 
was best for the people and the reformed religion. 
She said that she hoped for pardon and salvation 
only through the mercy of the Lord Jesus Christ, 
and then begged the spectators to pray for her. 
She knelt down and repeated a fervent prayer ; 
then she rose and bared her neck for the axe. 
Her eyes were bandaged, and she was led to the 
block. She laid her beautiful head down quietly, 
and said, in a sweet, clear voice, " Lord, into thy 
hands I commend my spirit." The headsman 
swung his axe in the air ; it gleamed terrible in 
the sunshine, then fell, with a dull, heavy sound ; 
and all was over. 

Shortly after the execution of his daughter, the 
Duke of Suffolk, who had been a second time 



LADIES JANE AND CATHARINE GREY 129 

arrested for treason, was also beheaded. The sur- 
viving members of his family were treated with 
harshness and distrust by the Queen and neglected 
by the servile and bigoted court. Even Lord Her- 
bert, the betrothed husband of Lady Catharine, 
forsook them, and, false dastard that he was, re- 
fused to fulfil his engagement. But she was happier 
rid of him than she could possibly have been as 
his wife ; and she doubtless scorned him, and 
thanked Heaven for her own release. 

When Elizabeth became Queen she was jealous 
of Lady Catharine, who had inherited her sister's 
right, such as it was, to the throne, and wished to 
keep her in obscurity and prevent her marrying any 
powerful nobleman. So, when the Lady Catharine 
and the brave and true-hearted Earl of Hertford 
found that they dearly loved one another, they did 
not dare to let her majesty know it, but were 
privately married. After a while, Elizabeth found 
out their secret, and in her rage and spite had them 
both arrested and committed to the Tower. But 
her anger and cruelty could not part that devoted 
husband and wife. They loved tenderly, firmly, 
and faithfully, and thanked God for each other to 
the last. 



130 THE TOWER 



After an imprisonment of seven years, during 
which time she had three children born in the 
gloomy Tower, Lady Catharine Hertford died of 
a broken heart, making her lonely prison-chamber 
a bright and blessed place by her angelic resigna- 
tion. When she knew that her last hour was come, 
she took off her wedding ring and desired that it 
should be sent to her husband, who was not per- 
mitted to come to her when she was dying. She 
then embraced her three little boys with prayers 
and a few tears which she could not keep back. 
Then she closed her eyes with her own hands and 
went softly to sleep. 

Lord Hertford was released after a longer im- 
prisonment of three years. He lived to be an old 
man ; but the love of his unfortunate young wife 
was ever a constant memory in his heart, sweet, 
though mournful, like the scent of the votive 
wreaths that withered over her grave. 



THE TOWER (Continued) 
ARABELLA STUART 




txi 



In the latter part of the reign of Queen Eliza- 
beth there appeared at her court a young relative 
of her's, named Arabella Stuart. 

"The Lady Arabella," as she was always called, 
was the only child of Charles Stuart, Earl of 
Lenox, and Elizabeth Cavendish, of Hard wick. 
Her father was of the royal blood of both England 
and Scotland ; for he was the great-grandson of 
Henry VII. and the uncle of James VI. He died 
at the early age of twenty-one, leaving his daughter 
with no protector in the perilous great world to 
which she was born. 

133 



134 THE TOWER 



The Lady Arabella was very carefully educated 
by her grandmother, the old Countess of Lenox, 
who lived in London. As she grew up to woman- 
hood she became celebrated for her talents and 
accomplishments and for the elegance and grace 
of her manners. She became the ornament of 
that splendid court, where she was admired for 
her wit and learning, and loved and wondered at 
for her kind, generous heart, her frankness of 
speech and innocent ways, and for her bright, 
sunshiny disposition. 

This was the time when Elizabeth Tudor had 
finally, with much reluctance, begun to realize 
that, great Queen as she was, — powerful, re- 
nowned, magnificent, — she was getting to be an 
old and a decidedly ugly woman ; and accordingly 
she grew harsher and sourer, more testy and 
tyrannical, every day. Of course she made all 
the people about her unhappy and uncomfortable ; 
though they were far enough from letting her 
know they felt so, I'll warrant. No ; they doubt- 
less assured her that she was a saint for goodness 
and a lamb for amiability ; and when, at seventy 
years of age, she went stiffly and rheumatically 
through the court dances, in her towering wig, her 



ARABELLA STUART I 35 

immense ruff, and hooped petticoat, wily courtiers 
who wanted gifts and offices professed to be in 
raptures with her sylph-like figure, graceful move- 
ments, and sweet, youthful smile ; and designing 
court ladies, though ever so young and blooming, 
coyly hung back when asked to join the minuet, de- 
claring with a simper that they really could not make 
figures of themselves after such dancing as that. 

Yet, though they flattered her to her face in this 
fulsome manner, there is little doubt but that they 
privately relieved their feelings by ridiculing her 
vanity and ugliness ; and some of them, I am afraid, 
in their secret hearts wished her quietly laid away 
in her royal tomb in Westminster Abbey. 

Such, dear children, were courts and courtiers 
in those old times — sometimes wrongly called 
" the good old times." 

The young Lady Arabella was like a singing 
bird, a wild flower, a bounding doe, a laughing 
brook, a gleam of sunlight — any thing cheerful, 
sweet, glad, and natural — in that stiff, formal, 
cold, and hypocritical place. 

But Queen Elizabeth was jealous of her, as 
she had been of Lady Catharine Grey, for the same 
absurd reason, — her royal blood, — and treated 



136 THE TOWER 



her with cruel suspicion and harshness. She was 
particularly set against her marrying ; and when 
a son of the Duke of Northumberland addressed 
her, and she was pleased with him, and they were 
having a pleasant correspondence and looking 
forward to a happy life together, Elizabeth, like 
the tyrannical Queen she was, came between them 
and parted them forever. She placed the Lady 
Arabella in confinement, and kept her there until 
she thought her sufficiently punished for her pre- 
sumption and disobedience. 

As for the young noble, he seems to have been 
but a faint-hearted lover ; for he quietly yielded 
to the Queen, and abandoned Arabella, probably 
contenting himself with a wife less dangerously 
allied to royalty, and less obnoxious to Elizabeth 
on the ground of talents and beauty as well as 
illustrious birth. 

When her cousin, James VI., of Scotland, 
ascended the throne of the United Kingdoms, 
Lady Arabella Stuart hoped for a brighter and 
easier life. But no ; matters were only worse ; 
and she was at last convinced that, unless she 
could drain every drop of that fatal royal blood 
from her veins, she could never cease to be an 



ARABELLA STUART I 37 

object of distrust to the reigning sovereign, whether 
Tudor or Stuart. 

To add greatly to her misfortunes, her name 
was made use of, without her leave or knowledge, 
by a set of mad adventurers who conspired to 
depose King James and seat her on the throne. 

It was little wonder that the English people 
were disgusted with their new Scottish King, 
who, besides being coarse, ill-made, awkward, and 
altogether ungentlemanly, was violent-tempered, 
obstinate, conceited, tyrannical, shallow-pated, and 
pedantic. In short, it seems proved by the history 
of his time that a more contemptible monarch 
never sat on the throne of England for any length 
of time ; and that is saying a great deal. The 
Lady Arabella, on the other hand, was a good, 
wise, and gracious lady, and would probably have 
made an excellent Queen. Nevertheless it was 
a wild and hopeless scheme ; for James had the 
legal right, possession, which, it is said, is " nine 
points of the law" ; and the English people were 
not yet strong and free enough to disregard these 
things when royal prerogatives were abused and 
honest loyalty sought to be degraded into slavish 
submission. 



138 THE TOWER 



This unfortunate plot was the one in which Sir 
Walter Raleigh was so unhappily implicated. The 
Lady Arabella was present during the trial of the 
conspirators, and denied having had any knowledge 
of their designs. It was even proved that, when a 
letter was sent her to warn her that she was sus- 
pected of such a plot, she laughed over it, in her 
frank, light-hearted way, and sent it to the King. 

But, though there was not the slightest evidence 
against her, and she was honorably acquitted, she 
was always afterwards obliged to endure cold neglect 
and petty persecutions from the King and royal 
family, and consequently from the court. She grew 
retired, studious, and religious in her habits, shun- 
ning the gay world as much as possible. And the 
court grew not a little more tiresome for this. There 
was no one to take her place ; and her lively talk 
and charming manners were missed even by those 
who were too stupid or ungenerous to acknowledge 
her rare talents and goodness. 

It was generally thought that the Lady Arabella 
would never marry, she had become so thoughtful 
and reserved, and appeared so entirely devoted to 
learning and religion. It seems that the King 
thought so ; for he gave her a written permission 



ARABELLA STUART 1 39 

to wed, provided she chose for her husband one of 
his subjects. He made a great parade about this, 
as though it were an act of wonderful generosity. 

But by this time the Lady Arabella understood 
her royal kinsman ; and when she found that in 
her deepest heart she loved William Seymour, son 
of the Earl of Beauchamp, and that all the joy of 
her sorrowful, persecuted life was in the dear love 
he gave her, she did not dare to bestow her hand 
upon him before the world, or to inform the King 
of her attachment, but was privately married, as 
the Lady Catharine Grey had been. 

By the way, this William Seymour was a grand- 
son of Lady Catharine and the Earl of Hertford ; 
so he came of a brave and faithful stock. 

This happy union was soon interrupted. The 
secret of the marriage was discovered, and, by some 
ill-natured courtier, conveyed to the King, who 
proceeded to take vengeance on the offenders. Mr. 
Seymour was at once imprisoned in the Tower. 
The Lady Arabella was committed to the custody of 
Sir Thomas Parry, at Lambeth, but was soon after 
removed to the house of a Mr. Conyers, at High- 
gate, where she was not so closely watched but 
that she had opportunities to write and send letters 



140 THE TOWER 



to her husband, who found means to send her 
loving and cheering replies. So this true-hearted 
pair comforted each other under their trials, and 
thus were happy for a while, in spite of their tyran- 
nical sovereign. 

But some base little spy of a bird, who ought 
to have been on better business, carried tidings 
of this correspondence to the ear of the King, who 
fretted, and stormed, and swore in broad Scotch, 
and commanded that the Lady Arabella should 
be removed to Durham and kept in close confine- 
ment there. 

A friend gave the poor woman timely warning ; 
and she, in her grief and terror at the prospect of 
this further separation, wrote to her husband, beg- 
ging him to arrange some plan of escape for them 
both. 

The noble Seymour had made so many friends 
in the Tower that he was not strictly guarded, 
but allowed to walk about the courts and see his 
friends privately. So he wrote to his wife, laying 
a very ingenious plan for her to escape, giving her 
particular directions, and promising to join her at 
Lee, and cross the channel with her to France, in 
a vessel which she would find waiting for them. 



ARABELLA STUART 141 

On the night before the day set for her journey 
to Durham, the Lady Arabella, assisted by a 
faithful serving woman named Markam, disguised 
herself completely in male attire. She put on a 
doublet, a pair of long French hose, a large wig of 
light hair covering her dark locks, a black hat, a 
cloak, and a pair of high top-boots. 

Then she buckled about her slender waist a long, 
light sword, called a rapier, — trembling at the 
very touch of it, — and so went out with Markam 
quite unsuspected. 

They walked a mile and a half to an inn, where one 
of Seymour's friends was awaiting them with horses. 

When the Lady Arabella mounted she was so 
faint with terror and fatigue that the hostler who 
held the stirrup for her said he feared " that young 
gentleman would hardly hold out to London." 

But the brisk exercise in the cool night air re- 
vived her ; and after a while she grew strong, 
courageous, and cheerful, and even laughed with 
Markam about her manly way of riding, which 
of course was strange and awkward to her. 

About six o'clock in the morning they reached 
Blackwall, where they found two men, a gentle- 
woman, and a waiting-maid, with two boats — 



142 THE TOWER 



one to receive them, and the other filled with the 
trunks and valuables of Mr. Seymour and his wife. 

They hastened from Blackwall to Woolwich, 
from Woolwich to Gravesend, and from Gravesend 
to Lee, where they went at once on board the 
French bark which was lying at anchor. Here 
the Lady Arabella wished to remain until her 
husband should come, but her followers and the 
captain of the vessel thought it not prudent, and, 
against her tearful entreaties, hoisted sail and put 
out to sea, only promising her to hover as near as 
was safe to the English coast, that Seymour might 
join them. 

In the mean time Mr. Seymour had safely effected 
his escape from the Tower by disguising himself 
as a countryman, in a coarse cloth suit, with a 
black wig and a false beard, and boldly walked out 
of the great west gate beside a cart that had 
brought him a load of fagots. The woodman who 
took his place for a little while was well paid for 
his pains, I can assure you. 

Mr. Seymour then passed quietly along the Tower 
wharf, by the warders of the south gate, to where 
one of his faithful friends was waiting for him with 
a boat. They rowed to Lee, and found to their grief 




Lady Arabella, in male attire, hastening to Lee 
143 



144 THE TOWER 



that the French bark had weighed anchor and was 
gone. But there was a ship in the distance that 
they hoped was it. Though a storm was coming 
on, and the waves were rising very high, Mr. Sey- 
mour hired a fisherman to take him out to this 
vessel. Alas ! it was not the right one. Then, in 
his sorrowful perplexity, almost in despair, he hailed 
a Newcastle coal-craft, and for a large sum induced 
the master to alter its course and land him in Flan- 
ders — probably hoping that his wife would be able 
to join him there. 

Now, when the news of the escape of the Lady 
Arabella and William Seymour came to the King 
he stormed worse than ever, swore several hard 
oaths in broad Scotch, raved up and down his 
cabinet, kicked the pet spaniel of his handsome 
favorite, the Duke of Buckingham, and behaved in 
a most unkingly manner generally ; all because a 
faithful and loving husband and wife had made a 
brave effort to live together, as they had promised 
before God to do. He ordered that a vessel of war 
should at once be sent after the fugitives. This 
ship soon came up with the French bark, which 
was lingering for Mr. Seymour, and fired into her 
thirteen shot before she would surrender. 



ARABELLA STUART 145 

The Lady Arabella was taken and lodged in the 
Tower, bravely protesting, it is said, that she was 
more glad that her husband had escaped from 
it than she was sorry to enter it herself, as his 
happiness was of far more consequence than her 
own. But, poor man ! little happiness came to his 
sad heart after that dreadful disappointment. He 
lived for several years in Flanders, a lonely, sor- 
rowful exile — ever looking longingly towards his 
country, that he dared not revisit — ever think- 
ing of his noble wife as sitting in her gloomy 
prison chamber, sadly musing over the brief, happy 
days of their love, or as weeping wildly and 
stretching out her arms towards him — as some- 
times despairing utterly, and sometimes vainly 
hoping for deliverance. 

The Lady Arabella was brought before the King's 
Privy Council and very sternly examined. She 
replied to all their questioning with frankness and 
admirable judgment, and bore herself far more 
royally than the miserable, jealous-minded mon- 
arch that opposed her. Nothing treasonable could 
be proved against her ; and yet she was sent back 
to the Tower. Oh, what a foreboding gloom fell 
on her once glad spirit, what a deathlike chill 



146 THE TOWER 



shot through her brave, warm heart, as she passed 
once again under the cold shadows of those dark 
prison portals ! 

About a year from this time the Lady Arabella 
sent word to her cousin, the King, that she had 
some very important disclosures to make. So the 
King, rubbing his hands in savage glee at having 
brought the proud woman to terms, called a Privy 
Council, in great haste, to hear what she had to 
disclose. 

The prisoner appeared before them and made 
some very startling disclosures indeed — so startling 
that the base King turned pale, and all those hard- 
ened old lords looked shocked, almost grieved. She 
revealed that sorrow, persecution, and imprisonment 
had driven her mad ! Yes ; the once gay and gifted 
Lady Arabella Stuart was a maniac ! 

Again her cousin, the King, sent her back to the 
Tower, perhaps thinking it the best place to hide 
the dreadful work of his injustice and cruelty. 

But even those massive prison walls could not 
shut the disgraceful and horrible truth from the 
world. The story of the Lady Arabella's wrongs 
and sufferings, despair and madness, got abroad, 
and few were so careless or hard-hearted as not to 



ARABELLA STUART 147 

feel for her. Women talked of her sadly at their 
firesides, while their children wept around ; rough 
men spoke her name in pitying tones, saying, 
" Alack ! a woful ending to the faithful loves of so 
fair a dame and so gracious a gentleman ! " — while 
brave youths, listening, played with the hilts of 
their swords and cursed the King in their secret 
hearts. 

At last the fearful tidings reached William 
Seymour, and made all the sorrow that had gone 
before seem as nothing. After that he no longer 
thought of his Arabella as sitting in quiet grief, 
thinking of him and remembering the dear old 
happy days, but as shrieking out incoherent words 
and singing wild ballads ; as clad in a coarse garb ; 
as bound and struggling in fierce frenzy ; or as 
moping in speechless melancholy, slowly sinking 
into the deep stupor of idiocy. 

So he suffered while three miserable years 
dragged on ; and then, it is said, a sweet vision was 
sent to comfort him. He dreamed he saw his 
beloved wife, smiling with love and happiness, 
clothed in beautiful garments, pure white, like her 
wedding dress — in her " right mind," sitting at the 
feet of Him who came to comfort the sorrowful 



148 THE TOWER 



and "open the prison doors to them that are 
bound." 

When William Seymour awoke from this dream 
he was at peace, and he said, " Now I know it 
is well with her." And it was well. The Lady 
Arabella was dead. 



WESTMINSTER ABBEY 

THE TWO WILLS 




This noble cathedral, one of the most famous 
religious edifices in the world, is said to have been 
founded in the second century, upon the site of a 
Roman temple dedicated to Apollo. But there is 
no very authentic record of it before the time of 
Edward the Confessor. He rebuilt it in what was 
then considered a splendid style of architecture, and 
expended immense sums upon it. He appointed a 
great many monks to live there, and gave them a 
great deal of money, that they might be easy and 
comfortable ; and in return they made a saint of 
him after he was dead. 

151 



152 WESTMINSTER ABBEY 

From his time down to a recent reign the abbey 
has been growing in beauty and importance, though 
it has suffered sadly in various revolutions, and is 
far less splendid in some respects than it was before 
the old Catholic worship was done away. It looks 
somewhat too dark and dreary without the rich 
altars, the golden chalices and candlesticks, the 
burning tapers and incense, the pictures and images 
of saints, angels, the Blessed Virgin and the Child 
Jesus, which once made it so brilliant and beautiful. 

Westminster Abbey is not so magnificent as 
York Minster, nor so imposing as St. Paul's Cathe- 
dral ; but it is more interesting than either, because 
of its age, its history, and the many tombs of dis- 
tinguished people which it contains. 

In the old churchyard without are a multitude of 
graves covered with flat stone slabs. Nearly all the 
inscriptions are so worn away that one tries in vain 
to decipher them. I thought, as I walked over 
these stones, that perhaps many of those who sleep 
in the unknown graves below may have been in 
their lives noble and good, though not deemed 
worthy of a burial among heroes, princes, and poets 
within the minster. And then I thought of a surer 
record for such, and rejoiced in the promise that 



THE TWO WILLS 1 53 

the names of the righteous shall be carved on the 
imperishable tablets of God's remembrance. 

Westminster Abbey is a vast edifice, built, like all 
ancient cathedrals, in the form of a cross, with so 
many aisles and chapels that it seems like a congre- 
gation of small churches with one grand roof over all. 

Dear children, I truly wish that I could give you 
such a description of Westminster Abbey as would 
make it stand and shine out before you in all its 
immensity and solemn beauty. But, as this cannot 
be, I must content myself with speaking of some of 
the most interesting objects which it contains, and 
leave the grand building itself to your imaginations 
till that happy hour when you may behold it with 
your own wondering, delighted eyes. 

In the south transept is what is called "The 
Poet's Corner," because here are the tombs or 
tablets of many of the most famous poets of Eng- 
land. To this spot all who love poetry first turn 
their steps. The oldest tomb here is that of 
Chaucer, who, you will remember, lived in the time 
of Edward III. and Queen Philippa. The next is 
that of Edmund Spenser, who lived in the reign of 
Elizabeth, and was one of the most wonderful poets 
that ever was known. His soul was as full of beauty 



154 WESTMINSTER ABBEY 

and melody as an English wood in summer is of 
flowers and bird-songs. He had a pure spirit, a 
gentle heart ; and the world has been brighter and 
happier for his having lived and written. But alas ! 
his own life was one of trial and suffering, though 
he was much courted and flattered in the first days 
of his fame. His friend Ben Jonson states that he 
actually died of want in London, and that, just at 
the last, he refused twenty pieces of gold sent him 
by the Earl of Essex, saying "he was sorry he had 
no. time to spend them." 

But when he was dead his great friends rallied 
about him and made a grand funeral for him in 
the abbey. When his body, once admired for its 
symmetry and beauty, but now worn with care and 
wasted with famine, was let down into the grave, 
his brother poets threw in upon it elegies and 
epitaphs. Alas ! so it too often is in this world. 
People are more ready to go to great funerals than 
to seek out the suffering, and find it cheaper to 
write elegies for the dead than to furnish bread for 
the starving. 

Yet there was one among that group of poets 
who, you may rely on it, would have shared his last 
crust with his friend, had he known of his need. 




lit K'"i 

Chapel of Henry VII, Westminster Abbey 



'55 



156 WESTMINSTER ABBEY 

This was a play-actor and writer whom he called 
" gentle Willy," but whom the world will know 
forever as William Shakspeare. 

The next poet buried here was Francis Beaumont. 
He had a dear friend whose name was Fletcher. 
The two always lived and worked together, and 
wrote so much alike that nobody could tell their 
writings apart. They loved each other so well in 
life that it was almost cruel to separate them in 
death ; but Fletcher was not buried in the abbey. 

Next in interest are the tombs of Dr. Johnson, 
Garrick, the great actor, and Sheridan, the bril- 
liant wit. 

In this corner is the tomb of one Thomas Parr, 
who actually lived in the reigns of ten different 
sovereigns, and died at the prodigious age of a 
hundred and fifty-two years ! Poor old man ! He 
must have feared that God had forgotten him. 

The most beautiful of all the chapels is that of 
Henry VII. One can hardly imagine that this 
could ever have been more magnificent than now ; 
yet it has doubtless been much injured and defaced 
since the time of its royal founder. 

In the nave of this chapel the Knights of the 
Bath have always been installed. In old times the 



THE TWO WILLS I 57 

candidates for this honor were obliged to take a 
cold bath and afterwards watch all night ; but in 
modern times both the bath and the vigil have been 
omitted by special order, as a disagreeable and 
dangerous duty — that is, when the young knight 
happened to be a Prince of the blood. 

The principal tombs in this chapel are those of 
Henry VII., his Queen, and his mother, Margaret, 
Countess of Richmond ; Queen Mary ; Mary, Queen 
of Scots ; Queen Elizabeth ; King James I., his 
Queen and children, and the Lady Arabella Stuart ; 
Queen Anne, and her husband, Prince George of 
Denmark ; William III. and his Queen ; the famous 
Duke of Buckingham ; the poet Addison ; and that 
noble Lord Ossory of whom his father, the Duke of 
Ormond, said, in the midst of his grief, " I would 
not exchange my dead son for any living son in 
Christendom." 

In this chapel there is a white marble sarcoph- 
agus, which contains some bones found in an oaken 
chest in the Tower during the reign of Charles 
II., and supposed to be the remains of the young 
King Edward V., and his brother, Richard of 
York, who were murdered by order of their uncle, 
Richard III. 



158 WESTMINSTER ABBEY 

As I stood beside this I shuddered, and the tears 
started to my eyes as I thought of those two 
poor innocent boys, smothered to death by brutal 
wretches, as they lay locked in each other's arms, 
dreaming pleasant dreams, perhaps, of happy days 
gone by forever, or of the heart-broken mother 
they were nevermore to behold. 

The story of a murder like this is a blood-stain 
on the page of history that nothing can erase ; 
and the horror of men at such a murderer grows 
deeper and deeper age after age. Since Richard of 
Gloucester fell on Bosworth Field the world has 
made its great journey around the sun more than 
four hundred times ; yet it has never rolled out of 
the shadow of his crimes. 

In the chapel of St. Paul, among the grand monu- 
ments of lords and ladies, stands a colossal statue of 
James Watt, the great engineer, who, among other 
noble works, improved the steam-engine and brought 
it to its present perfect state. I was glad to see this 
statue in Westminster Abbey ; for, after the best of 
the poets, none of the great people here buried have 
done so much good for the world as James Watt. 

In the chapel of the Kings there is a beautiful 
figure of Eleanor, Queen of Edward I., which lies 



THE TWO WILLS 159 

on her tomb. Old as it is, there is nothing so 
graceful and lovely in all the abbey. The tombs of 
Edward III. and the noble Queen Philippa are also 
in this chapel. 

Here are kept the old coronation-chairs of the 
Kings and Queens of England, and the famous 
stone of Scone, on which the early Scottish Kings 
were crowned. The Scots held it in the highest 
veneration, and had many wonderful traditions con- 
cerning it — the most absurd of which were, that 
it was the pillow on which Jacob rested his head on 
the night when he had the beautiful dream of a 
ladder full of angels ; and that it was once owned 
by the warlike Scythians ; and that, when a native 
Prince seated himself on it to be crowned, it gave 
out sounds like thunder and cried " God save the 
King " in good Scythian. 

The poor Scots were greatly grieved when 
Edward I. took this rare stone from them. They 
would rather he had taken its weight in silver, pro- 
vided so much of that precious metal could have 
been raised in all Scotland. 

The great drawback to one's pleasure in visiting 
Westminster Abbey is the fact that you cannot go 
about by yourself and see things at your leisure, 



160 WESTMINSTER ABBEY 

but must be conducted by a stupid-looking personage 
called a verger, who, after making you pay a shil- 
ling, hurries you through the chapels, giving you a 
lesson about the tombs, which he has by heart, and 
repeats in a pompous, sing-song tone, and in very 
bad English. 

This is very trying indeed ; but we must bear 
it, for it seems to be one of the fixed institutions 
— some say impositions — of the country. 

The Two Wills 

In the cloudy month of April, in the year 1509, 
in his royal chamber in his new palace of Richmond, 
the mighty monarch, King Henry VII., lay dying 
with the gout. He was in great distress both in 
body and mind ; for, whenever there was a little 
lull in that terrible gout-torture, his conscience set 
in to lash and sting him till his very soul writhed 
in agony. He had been a guileful, perfidious, cruel 
man — not bold in wickedness like his predecessor, 
Richard III., but hiding his evil deeds from the 
world ; and now his secret crimes looked out at him 
from the dark corners of his memory, like threaten- 
ing demon-faces. King Henry knew his own sins 



THE TWO WILLS l6l 

best, and left in his will directions for a costly tomb 
to be erected in his chapel before the high altar. 
He made many rich bequests to this altar, and left 
a large sum of money to pay for wax tapers which 
should be kept perpetually burning, and masses to 
be perpetually said for the repose of his soul. Then 
he besought his son Henry to right some of the 
wrongs he had done and restore some of the property 
he had unjustly confiscated. Think of his asking 
Henry VIII. to do that ! And then he bowed his 
crowned head and yielded to a monarch greater 
than he, a tyrant yet more inexorable — grim 
King Death. 

In the smiling month of June, in the same year, 
there sat, propped up in a chair of state, before an 
open window that looked out upon a pleasant lawn, 
a noble lady — Margaret, Countess of Richmond, 
mother of King Henry VII. She, too, was dying; 
but tranquil and almost painless was her passing 
away ; for her heart was at peace with the world, 
and her soul already reposed in God. 

All day long, great people — -princes and prin- 
cesses, lords and ladies — had been coming to pay 
their respects for the last time before she should 



162 WESTMINSTER ABBEY 

depart from the world and the court forever ; and 
though she each time lifted her head and extended 
her hand in her old proud and stately way, for 
every guest she had wise and serious, yet kind and 
gentle, words of admonition and farewell. 

Many a gay courtier, in her presence, felt his 
heart strangely touched and drawn towards God ; 
and many a thoughtless court dame went out from 
that death-chamber with her eyes cast down and 
penitent tears glistening on the long lashes. 

The young King, Henry VIII., came striding in, 
jingling his spurs and clanging his sword, in his 
rough, bluff way ; and with him came his good 
Queen, Katharine of Arragon. When the noble 
Countess solemnly enjoined upon her grandson to 
take counsel of God, and rule justly and mercifully, 
he promised ; but in his base heart he knew that 
he lied. 

There was no lack of priests about the dying 
Countess. She had always been considered a 
remarkably devout woman, and it was thought that 
she would leave the greater part of her immense 
property to the Church. But when Death, who 
came to the good Countess Margaret as an angel of 
blessed release, swung open the invisible gates and 



THE TWO WILLS 163 

led her into her heavenly home, the pious fathers 
suffered a little disappointment ; for she, too, had 
made a will. 

She had left some bequests to the Church ; she 
had endowed two colleges ; but she had also left a 
large sum for the perpetual benefit of the poor of 
Westminster. 

In the reign of Henry VIII. began the Reforma- 
tion in England. After a while the King favored 
it ; not from conscientious motives, but because he 
had quarrelled with the Pope, and because, being 
avaricious and rapacious, he was glad of an oppor- 
tunity of getting possession of the treasures of the 
abbeys and churches. One of the first things he 
did was to rob his dead father of his silver candle- 
sticks, his incense, and his masses. He even 
destroyed the altar itself, after stripping it of 
every thing valuable. So the lights were put out, 
the chanting was hushed, the sweet incense ceased 
to ascend before the tomb of Henry VII. And 
thus his royal will was set at nought. 

But the nobler will of his truly pious mother has 
remained in force and continued its blessed work 
through generation after generation down to this 



1 64 WESTMINSTER ABBEY 

very day. Around her tomb the blessings of the 
poor arise in a pure, perpetual incense ; there the 
memory of her good deeds sheds inextinguishable 
light, and, more than golden chalice or silver candle- 
stick, sacred relic or royal emblem, commends her 
name to the reverence and loyal love of the world. 



THE NEW PALACE OF 
WESTMINSTER 

THE PROROGATION 




The most beautiful modern 
building in England, if not in 
the world, is the New Palace 
of Westminster, which stands 
on the Thames, near to the 
Abbey. It is an immense edifice, built of fine stone, 
which is richly and elaborately carved in all sorts 
of figures, flowers, and devices. It has many grace- 
ful towers and pinnacles, and almost countless 
windows, arches, and niches ; and, vast as it is, it 
seems like a structure of fairy land, so delicately 
and exquisitely is it finished, where it is finished 

167 



168 THE NEW PALACE OF WESTMINSTER 

at all ; for some portions of this palace are yet far 
from complete. 

You must know this is not a royal residence, but 
is built for the great English Parliament, and con- 
tains the houses of Lords and Commons. 

Attached to the New Palace is old Westminster 
Hall — a majestic building, erected by William 
Rufus. That King taxed his subjects in a most 
grievous manner for money to expend on this hall, 
and compelled poor artisans to work for small wages ; 
so that the sighs and curses of the people may be 
said to have echoed every stroke of the chisel and 
blow of the hammer till the imposing edifice stood 
complete. 

Within this hall all coronation and state banquets 
were formerly given. Here Parliaments have sat 
and many state trials have been held. King Charles 
I. was tried and condemned here on the 20th of 
January, 1649. Here Oliver Cromwell was inau- 
gurated Lord Protector, with great pomp and cere- 
mony, on the 1 6th of September, 1653. And I 
think I must tell you something more of Cromwell. 

Charles I., you will remember, was the son of 
that King James of whom we have seen so much 
meanness and cruelty. Charles was more of a 



THE PROROGATION 169 

gentleman than his father ; handsomer and more 
gracious in his manners, but in his way scarcely 
less tyrannical. For many years he pursued a reck- 
less and foolish course, unjustly extorting money 
from his subjects ; intriguing with foreign courts 
and the army ; now defying and dismissing Parlia- 
ment ; now flattering and weakly yielding to it ; 
always promising and never fulfilling ; belying the 
real kingly character ; and being only true to his 
double-dealing Stuart nature and to his father's 
bad example. 

Chief among this King's enemies, for talent, 
energy, boldness, and good strong sense, was Oliver 
Cromwell. He was a brave and skilful general, a 
masterly politician, an eloquent orator — in short, 
an admirable leader for the people ; and he proved 
a wiser and a more active ruler than England had 
known for many a long year. After King Charles 
was beheaded (he died very bravely, to his honor), 
Oliver broke up a Parliament which didn't suit him, 
and got one after his own heart, and had every 
thing his own way. He made the nation respected 
abroad ; he made himself feared and honored even 
by kings and nobles who pretended to despise him 
for his lowly birth. But in one thing he was unwise : 



i;o THE NEW PALACE OF WESTMINSTER 

he was too strict and stern in the forms of religion. 
He and his Puritan followers sung too many psalms 
and said too many long prayers in public, and set 
their solemn faces too hard against the elegant arts 
and innocent amusements of society. The people 
grew tired, and secretly longed for a few royal 
shows, processions, coronations, tournaments, or 
birthday festivals. But they stood in such mortal 
fear of "old Noll," as they called Oliver, that they 
kept pretty quiet till he died and his son Richard 
undertook to fill his place. Then they said, " Come, 
we have had enough of this ; let us have a real 
King and a gay court again at any cost, and have 
done with the brewer's family, and this long, dull 
Sunday." 

So they called home Charles II., who had long 
been hoping for an invitation, and was not back- 
ward in accepting it. They declared him King, and 
flattered and feasted him, and made as much joyful 
ado over him as though he had been the " prodigal 
son" himself; and so he was, as far as the prodi- 
gality went. 

Charles II., who was called "a generous Prince " 
and "the merry monarch," began his reign by 
certain acts any thing but generous or merry. He 



THE PROROGATION 171 

put to death nearly all the Puritan leaders he could 
lay his hands on ; and then he had the dead bodies 
of Cromwell and his friends Ireton and Bradshaw 
taken from their graves in Westminster Abbey, 
dragged in a cart to Tyburn, and there hung on the 
gallows from sunrise to sunset. They were then 
cut down and beheaded. The trunks were thrown 
into a pit ; the heads spiked and fixed on the top 
of Westminster Hall. 

I was shown over the New Palace of Westminster 
by Mr. Cobden, a member of the House of Com- 
mons, who explained every thing to me in the 
pleasantest possible manner. With him I passed 
through many beautiful halls and corridors, and 
visited the houses of Lords and Commons. In the 
latter I heard a short speech from Mr. DTsraeli, a 
famous statesman, but a person not very remarkable 
in his appearance, except for a gay waistcoat, a pair 
of keen, restless, dark eyes, and a head of very 
black hair, hanging in stiff little curls, which look 
more like corkscrews than any thing else. 

The House of Lords is the most magnificent 
and brilliant hall I ever saw. It is really dazzling 
with gilding and beautiful ornaments, and richer 
than you can imagine in carving, pictures, and 



172 THE NEW PALACE OF WESTMINSTER 

velvet hangings. The seats of the peers and the 
steps of the throne are covered with crimson ; the 
throne itself is a mass of rich carving, gold, and 
crimson velvet ; and all about are the royal arms, 
national emblems and devices, curiously wrought 
or painted in gorgeous colors. 

I saw this chamber to better advantage at another 
time — and this was when Queen Victoria pro- 
rogued (that is, dismissed) Parliament, on the ist 
of July, 1852. 

The Prorogation 

I took the seat appointed to me in the gallery of 
the House of Lords at an early hour, and watched 
the peers and peeresses, officers of the church and 
state, foreign ministers and spectators enter and 
take their places. 

I had never beheld any thing half so splendid 
in the way of costly dress and jewelry as then met 
my eye on every side. The peers all wore robes of 
crimson velvet, trimmed with ermine, with jewelled 
orders about their necks and diamond stars spark- 
ling on their breasts. The foreign ministers wore 
the court dresses of their various countries, some of 
them exceedingly rich and beautiful. The judges 



THE PROROGATION 



173 




wore long, black robes, 
and those enormous 
white wigs which the 
English think so ven- 
erable and imposing, but which only strike us as 
queer and absurd. Then there were the bishops, 
who, though doubtless very pious men, did not 
seem to disapprove of all this worldly pomp and 
splendor, but looked contented and merry, and 
were very handsomely attired indeed. 

The peeresses and other great ladies present 
were dressed in the richest velvets, satins, brocades, 



174 THE NEW PALACE OF WESTMINSTER 

and laces, with ornaments of plumes, flowers, and 
all varieties of costly jewels ; some wearing on 
their heads, in their ears, about their necks and 
arms, and down their dresses, large fortunes in 
diamonds — shining, and flashing, and blinking all 
over them like a fairy illumination. Many of those 
noble lords and ladies were handsome, stately, and 
graceful enough to do without titles, fine dress, 
orders, and diamonds ; but some, it seemed to me, 
were very much indebted indeed to titles, fine 
dress, orders, and diamonds. Near me sat a little 
Indian Princess, dressed in her native costume, and 
covered from head to foot with gems and gold. It 
was said that the court ladies were greatly inter- 
ested in this child, partly because she was pretty 
and a little of a savage, and partly because there 
was something rather romantic in her history. 
Her mother had been converted to Christianity, 
and, when she was dying, made her husband 
promise to take her little girl to England and 
place her under the charge of Queen Victoria, 
that she might be educated as a Christian. The 
Prince did as he had promised ; though he knew 
he would be hated and denounced for it in India. 
He took his little daughter to England. Queen 



THE PROROGATION 175 

Victoria accepted the charge, and stood sponsor 
for her when she was baptized into the English 
church. 

About two o'clock there was a brave firing of 
great guns, to announce her majesty's arrival at 
the Victoria Tower ; and, a few minutes after, all 
in the house rose in respectful silence to receive 
the Queen. She entered with a slow, dignified 
step, conducted by her husband, Prince Albert, 
and followed by officers of state and the army. 
The Queen did not wear her crown — it was borne 
before her on a velvet cushion by the Earl of 
Derby ; but she wore a splendid tiara of diamonds. 
Her dress was of white satin, striped with gold, 
and over it an open robe of crimson velvet, trimmed 
with ermine and embroidered with gold. The train 
of this robe, many yards in length, was borne by 
ladies, gentlemen, and pages. 

Queen Victoria is a pretty pleasant-looking 
woman, fair and plump, with mild blue eyes, soft 
brown hair, and a very sweet smile, but she cer- 
tainly is not Queen-like in the way that Mary 
Stuart and Elizabeth Tudor were. She is not hand- 
some, nor haughty, nor even tall. But, short as 
she is, she looks quite stately enough when seated 



176 THE NEW PALACE OF WESTMINSTER 

on the throne, and is not a bit too simple and mild 
in her manner and expression for a Queen who has 
really no power of herself ; and, though she is not 
beautiful or proud, it 's a comfort to know that she 
will not blow up her husband with gunpowder, as 
Mary Stuart did hers ; and will not box her minis- 
ters' ears, or order her enemies' heads to be cut 
off, like stormy Queen Bess. 

Never, it seemed to me, was there a little woman 
so radiant with great, lustrous, throbbing diamonds. 
They seemed to have been starred upon her, till 
she shone like brightness itself. When her breast 
heaved they glistened like foam-beads on the crest 
of a wave ; and when she bowed her head or moved 
her arms, she shook off little sparkles of light, as a 
rose-tree shakes off dew-drops when it stirs in the 
morning wind. 

On the right and left of the throne are two 
chairs of state — one for the heir apparent, and the 
other for the Prince consort. The young Prince 
of Wales was not present that day ; but Prince 
Albert sat in his place, at the left of his wife. He 
is a tall, handsome, military-looking man, and is 
much liked and respected by the English people. 
Between him and the Queen stood the great Duke 



THE PROROGATION 177 

of Wellington, bearing the sword of state, which 
was almost too heavy for him in his feeble state of 
health. He was very old ; his head was tremulous 
with palsy, his hair was snowy white, and his tall 
figure was wasted and bent. I could not realize, 
when I looked at him, that he was indeed that 
great general, the conqueror of Napoleon Bona- 
parte. This was the last prorogation he was to 
witness : he died early in the following autumn. 

The members of the House of Commons were 
summoned, and came hurrying into a little place 
railed off for them under the gallery, opposite the 
throne. Some of these are Lords and Honorables, 
and all of them, it is supposed, are gentlemen ; yet 
they crowded and pushed one another in a most 
unceremonious way, and seemed as eager to see 
the show as a set of schoolboys. I noticed that 
Mr. DTsraeli soon made his way into the front 
rank, though he came in last. That is what genius 
does for a man. 

There was a long, dull speech read to the 
Queen, which she heard patiently, being used to 
such things ; then she gave her approval to some 
bills ; and then the Lord Chancellor, kneeling at 
her feet, put into her hand her own speech, which 



178 THE NEW PALACE OF WESTMINSTER 

she read in a sweet, clear tone of voice, with per- 
fect emphasis and distinctness. 

Then the Lord Chancellor rose and announced 
that Parliament was prorogued till the 20th of 
August ; then the Queen rose and Prince Albert 
rose ; then the peers and peeresses rose ; then the 
foreign ministers, distinguished and undistinguished 
strangers, rose. Prince Albert gave his hand to the 
Queen ; the ladies, gentlemen, and pages took up 
the train ; Lord Derby stepped forward with the 
crown ; the poor old Duke tottered along with the 
sword of state ; the whole grand procession passed 
out ; and the brilliant assembly broke up and 
followed as quietly as possible. So ended this 
beautiful royal pageant for me ; but some of my 
friends who were outside, and saw the Queen and 
Prince. Albert get into their splendid state carriage 
and drive away, professed to pity me for having 
lost the best part of the show. It was well they 
thought so. According to their account, it was a 
wonder the sun was not dazzled quite out of sight 
by that gorgeous, golden equipage. But the sun 
was out on a holiday, — a*rare thing in England, — 
and determined not to be outshone even by royalty. 



THE PROROGATION 179 

Queen Victoria is a gentle and conscientious 
sovereign, an affectionate daughter, a loving wife, 
a tender mother, and a true Christian. Such a 
woman has not sat on the throne of Great Britain 
for many a year, if ever before ; so let us say with 
her subjects, and from our hearts, " God save the 
Queen," not because she is the Queen, but because 
she is good. 

Editor's Note. — Queen Victoria reigned for more than 
sixty-three years. She died in 1901. This account was written 
soon after the prorogation of 1852 which is described here. 



KENILWORTH CASTLE 

LITTLE ROSAMOND 



S -I,YV^ .-, 31 .lill.-:£'( life 





Among the grandest ruins 
of England are those of 
Kenilworth Castle, in War- 
wickshire, once one of the strongest and most mag- 
nificent structures of the kind in all the world. 
It has been besieged, battered, burned, and defaced 
in every possible way ; but it is still very beautiful 
and imposing. 

I visited it on a lovely morning in early June. 
There had been a light shower a little while before ; 
the grass of the great court-yard was freshened 
anew ; the ivy that decked the broken old walls, 
and climbed and swung about the great high towers, 

183 



184 KENILWORTH CASTLE 

glistened in the sun and waved in a pleasant wind ; 
and the yellow wall-flowers shed down their per- 
fume upon us, falling so thick and so sweet every 
way we turned that it seemed like an invisible rain 
of fragrance. Daisies and other wild flowers bright- 
ened up the grass, and modest violets smiled out 
of shadowy nooks ; and here and there a blooming 
rose-tree, nestling up against the crumbling ma- 
sonry, seemed trying with all its little might to hide 
the desolation and cheer the solitude of the scene. 
Flitting every where about the ruins, and wheel- 
ing around the towers, were hosts of rooks — black, 
solemn-looking birds, who keep up an incessant 
caw-cawing, a sort of doleful jabbering, among 
themselves, which I never could imagine how they 
could find amusing or profitable. But doubtless 
they understand their own affairs and their own 
language best. Perhaps they thought their melan- 
choly cawing far more dignified and fitting in that 
mournful place than the sweet, blithe singing of the 
blackbirds and the thrushes that sometimes came to 
make the lonely air thrill with their delicious notes 
and to set all the little wild flowers trembling 
with delight ; just as some solemn people in this 
world think it is most proper and pious to be harsh 



LITTLE ROSAMOND 185 

and gloomy, and despise the merry singing of the 
light-hearted and the innocent laughter of children. 

Kenilworth Castle was built in the reign of 
Henry I. by Geoffrey Clinton, a Norman noble. 
In the reign of King John it passed out of the 
possession of the Clinton family and became the 
property of the crown. Henry III., after making 
many additions to it, granted it to his brother- 
in-law, Simon Montfort, Earl of Leicester. This 
Simon Montfort afterwards gave King Henry a 
great deal of trouble by raising a rebellion. For a 
time he was victorious, and, at the battle of Lewes, 
took captive the King and the Prince of Wales. 
The Prince escaped, raised another army, attacked 
and defeated the rebels. Montfort was slain ; and 
the remains of his army, headed by his son, fled to 
Kenilworth Castle, which was besieged by Prince 
Edward, but was gallantly defended for six months. 
Then famine and pestilence obliged the rebels to 
capitulate. Thus the castle came again into the 
possession of the crown. 

The unfortunate Edward II., who got into so 
much trouble with his barons because his favor- 
ites proved insolent and meddlesome, was im- 
prisoned in the dungeons of Kenilworth Castle, 



186 KENILWORTH CASTLE 

while his beautiful but bad Queen, Isabella, and 
her favorite, Roger de Mortimer, were holding a 
gay court in its halls. Perhaps sometimes at night 
the poor King faintly heard the sound of music and 
revelry. Perhaps he wept as he sat alone in the 
cold darkness, remembering how fondly he had 
loved that cruel woman, and listened to catch one 
tone of her voice, once so dear to him, though 
now speaking gentle words to his enemy ; or even 
to hear the sound of her dancing feet, though they 
seemed to be treading on his heart. 

Kenilworth remained the greater part of the 
time in the possession of the crown till the reign 
of Elizabeth, who bestowed it upon Robert Dud- 
ley, Earl of Leicester. It was in the time of this 
proud noble that Kenilworth reached the height 
of its splendor, and really became a beautiful and 
splendid palace as well as a powerful fortress. In 
erecting new and magnificent buildings, towers, 
and gateways ; in enlarging the lake which lay near 
it ; in improving the chase, the parks, and gardens, 
— he expended no less than half a million of pounds 
sterling — about two millions and a half of dollars. 

At this castle, in the year 1575, the Earl of 
Leicester received Queen Elizabeth and her whole 



LITTLE ROSAMOND 187 

court, and entertained them for seventeen days, in 
the most princely and costly manner imaginable. 

When this entertainment came off all the country 
was turned upside down with delight and excite- 
ment, and every body said that nothing half so 
grand had ever happened in the world, — not 
even when the Queen of Sheba paid a friendly 
visit to King Solomon, — and never could happen 
again. In truth there was great parade and fes- 
tivity at the castle. There were players, singers, 
jugglers, and tumblers from London, France, and 
Italy ; there were hosts of gallant knights and 
noble ladies ; there was dancing, tilting, hunting, 
hawking, eating ; and I am afraid there was some 
pretty hard drinking — at least this little fact in 
history looks like it: "Over and above the wine 
and other liquors, there were drank no less than 
three hundred and twenty hogsheads of beer." 

The Earl of Leicester was a handsome, accom- 
plished gentleman, but a wily courtier. He sought 
to win the favor of the Queen, so that she should 
choose him for her husband and raise him to the 
throne. 

But Elizabeth saw his ambitious designs ; and, 
though she liked him very well, she did not think 



188 KENILWORTH CASTLE 

he would make a good ruler for the people. It 
was said, also, that this great Queen loved the 
power and glory of royalty too much to share 
them with any man. She certainly refused to 
marry Leicester, though he strove and plotted 
for years to gain a seat beside her on the throne. 
It is even said that he caused a lovely young 
girl called Amy Robsart, whom he had privately 
married, to be murdered, so that he could law- 
fully wed his Queen. But I hope it was not so ; 
though certainly the poor lady did drop off very 
suddenly and mysteriously. 

Elizabeth Tudor was not decidedly a good 
woman ; but she was one of the best sovereigns 
that ever reigned in England. She was brave 
and energetic, and gifted with excellent sense and 
judgment. 

This Queen was the daughter of Henry VIII. 
and Anne Boleyn. " Bluff King Harry," as he was 
called, was a coarse and cruel man, who while he 
lived was feared and hated, and when he died 
was only not forgotten because the story of his 
crimes kept up a shuddering remembrance of him 
in the minds of the people. He divorced his good 
wife, Katharine of Arragon, so that he might 



LITTLE ROSAMOND 189 

marry one of her maids of honor, the beautiful 
Anne Boleyn ; but in the course of a year or two 
he took a fancy to another lady ; and so he had 
Queen Anne's head taken off to make way for 
Queen Jane, who, fortunately for her, died in time 
to escape the scaffold. He next married the 
Princess Anne of Cleves, whom he divorced for 
Catharine Howard, who in her turn was soon 
obliged to lay her pretty head upon the block, be- 
cause it was the King's pleasure to have another 
consort. And so he went on till all the beautiful 
young ladies in the kingdom lived in mortal fear 
of the crown and the axe ; and some, who were 
neither beautiful nor young, professed to be most 
frightened of all. 

The motherless Elizabeth led but a sad life 
during the reign of her sister, Queen Mary, who 
imprisoned her and treated her very harshly, prin- 
cipally on account of her Protestant faith. But 
her own trials did not make her more merciful 
towards others. She seldom forgave her enemies, 
but punished with long imprisonment or death 
all rebels and conspirators. When the Queen of 
Scots was driven from her own country by the 
rebellion of her subjects, and sought refuge in 



190 KENILWORTH CASTLE 

England, instead of granting her hospitality and 
help, Elizabeth put her in prison. Mary Stuart was 
very beautiful ; but somehow this did not seem 
to help her cause with her " cousin of England," 
who kept her in close confinement for nineteen 
years, and then beheaded her. 

As for Queen Elizabeth's faults, after all, there 
may have been more excuses for them than we 
know, and there may have been more noble and 
generous qualities in her character than we find 
set down in history. Historians are usually more 
apt to relate bad than good things of sovereigns 
and great people. There is but one true account 
of any human life ; and that is the record kept by 
God's just angel in heaven. 

The descendants of the Earl of Leicester sold 
Kenilworth to the royal family; and, when Crom- 
well became Lord Protector, he bestowed it upon 
six of his favorite officers. These Puritan soldiers 
made terrible work with it — dividing the great 
estate into farms, destroying the parks and gardens, 
draining the lake, and making of the castle a com- 
plete ruin ; and a ruin it has remained ever since. 

But now for a little story, which I hope will 
interest you. 



LITTLE ROSAMOND 191 

Little Rosamond — A Legend of Kenilworth 
Castle 

It was the evening of the day set for Queen 
Elizabeth's visit to Kenilworth. Great multitudes 
of people had been for many hours assembled on 
the walls, in the chase, and park and gardens, to 
witness the splendid sight. But her majesty had 
been detained till twilight at Warwick to receive 
the homage of her subjects ; and now it was an- 
nounced that the grand entrance would be made 
by torchlight. At length the great bell of the castle 
tolled and a single rocket shot up into the air. 
Then all held their breath and listened. At first 
they could only hear a dull, sea-like sound in the 
direction of Warwick Castle ; but it came nearer and 
grew louder, till they could distinguish the tramp of 
horses, music, and shouting, and the clang of armor. 

When the Queen entered the royal chase hun- 
dreds of great rockets were sent blazing and hiss- 
ing into the sky ; and such a mighty shout was 
set up by the multitude that it was almost a wonder 
it didn't jostle the stars out of their places. Yet 
they did not seem at all disturbed by the tumult, 
but staid quietly in their orbits, and winked at 



192 KENILWORTH CASTLE 

one another, as though making fun of the Earl's 
fireworks. The whole music of the castle burst 
forth ; then there was a round of artillery and a 
tremendous discharge of blunderbusses. 

Slow and stately the procession moved from 
the gate of the park, illuminated by two hundred 
great wax torches, borne by armed horsemen. 

The Queen, who was young at that time, and, 
though not handsome, was noble and grand look- 
ing, came mounted on a beautiful milk-white horse, 
which she managed very well ; for she was an 
admirable rider. She was dressed in the richest 
silks, velvet, and lace ; and from head to foot she 
seemed almost blazing with costly jewels. Beside 
the Queen rode the Earl of Leicester, on a jet- 
black steed, one of the handsomest in the world, 
with trappings of velvet and gold and silver bits. 
The Earl was gorgeously dressed, and glittered 
all over with gold and gems. He sat his horse so 
elegantly, and was so proud in his bearing, that 
he might have been mistaken for a King had he 
not rode bare-headed like the rest of the courtiers. 
After the Queen and the Earl followed a train 
of noblemen and ladies, guards, pages, knights, 
gentlemen, and soldiers — a long and splendid 



LITTLE ROSAMOND 193 

cavalcade. On either side stood a line of people 
closely packed together, all bowing and shouting 
their loyal welcomes. 

As the Queen was approaching the outer tower 
she checked her horse to speak to one of her ladies ; 
when suddenly there broke, or rather slid, through 
the line of soldiers a little girl, who flung herself at 
her majesty's feet and grasped her robe, crying, — 

" A boon ! Great Queen, a boon ! " 

A rude soldier strode forward and lifted his 
broadsword over the head of the child ; when, 
quick as a flash, a boy, scarcely larger than the 
girl, leaped out of the crowd and snatched the 
sword from the soldier's hand, saying, boldly, — 

" Thou art a cowardly knave ! " 

The man turned upon him in rage, caught back 
the sword, and might have killed him with it had 
not the Queen cried, — 

"Hold, villain! By my faith, I think the lad 
is right. Wouldst butcher babes like these ? Then 
art thou one of King Herod's men, and none of 
ours. Stand back ! " 

Then, turning her eyes on the little girl, who 
stood trembling at her side, she looked at her a 
moment in silent surprise. And well she might ; 



194 KENILWORTH CASTLE 

for the child was as beautiful as an angel. She 
could scarcely have been more than ten years of 
age. She was very fair and delicate, with a tender, 
appealing face, and a voice sweet, but mournful, 
like the sound of a wind harp. She had large, 
dark eyes, with long heavy lashes ; but her eye- 
brows were a shade lighter ; and her hair, which 
was soft and wavy, was of a rich, golden hue. 
Now tears were flashing in her eyes ; her red lips 
were quivering ; her cheek was brightly flushed ; 
her hair gently lifted from her forehead by the 
evening wind ; and, in her simple white frock, 
she looked there under the torchlight so like a 
radiant little seraph that the stern Queen spoke 
softly to her, almost as though in fear, saying, — 

" Who art thou ? and what wouldst thou with 
me ? " 

" My name is Rosamond Vere," answered the 
child ; " and I come to put this petition into your 
own hands, and to beseech your majesty to grant 
the prayer of a poor motherless little girl, who will 
pray to God for you every night and morning as 
long as she lives." 

The Queen smiled graciously and took the 
paper, but said, — 




" A boon ! Great Queen, a boon ! " 
195 



196 KENILWORTH CASTLE 

" This is no time or place to read petitions, 
child. Come to the castle to-morrow, at the hour 
of twelve, and we will give thee audience. But 
tell me, who is thy brave young champion ? By 
my soul, he hath a right gallant spirit ! " 

"I do not know, your majesty. I never saw 
him before," said Rosamond. 

The boy of whom they spoke had gone back 
among the spectators ; but on hearing these words 
he stepped modestly forward. He was a handsome 
lad, with deep, dark, beaming eyes, and a sort of 
grand look about his forehead, which made him 
seem, for all his plain, peasant dress, nobler than 
any young lord or duke in all that cavalcade. 

The Queen smiled on him, and said, — 

" Well, young rash-head, what art thou called ? " 

" William Shakspeare, may it please your 
majesty." 

" Marry, a good name, and an honest ; and thou 
art a brave lad. Doubtless we shall hear of thee 
when thou art a man. But now away with ye both ; 
for it is late for such chicks to be abroad." 

Then she loosened the reins of her horse and 
rode forward with Leicester ; and all the proces- 
sion moved on again. They passed through the 



LITTLE ROSAMOND 197 

tower, over the bridge, and entered the castle, 
with another peal of music and discharge of 
artillery, and such a terrific irruption of rockets 
that some of the country-women shrieked with 
fright, thinking that the castle and all the great 
folks in it were being blown into atoms ; some 
even fancying that they saw the Queen on her 
white horse riding straight up into the air. 

Rosamond Vere went away to Warwick with 
some friends, and William Shakspeare went home 
to Stratford with his father and mother. They 
drove in a rough little wagon ; for in those days 
only kings and nobles had carriages. William sat 
on a bag of wool behind his parents. His head 
was full of the splendors he had seen, and his 
heart beat high and fast with pride because of 
the Queen's praise. He was greatly excited ; but 
he was tired also ; and when they reached home 
he was found fast asleep on the wool-bag. 

The next day, when little Rosamond presented 
herself at the castle, she was at once admitted 
and conducted to an ante-room, where she had a 
few minutes to wait. She met there an elegant 
young courtier, one Sir Walter Raleigh, who 
kindly instructed her how to conduct herself 



198 KENILWORTH CASTLE 

before the Queen. Above all things, he told her 
she must remember never to turn her back on her 
majesty, but, when she was dismissed, to go out 
backwards : and Rosamond promised to do as 
he bade her. Just at twelve she was summoned 
by the Lord Chamberlain to the great hall, where 
the Queen was holding court. She was seated 
on a throne, under a canopy of state. She wore 
her crown, and a dress of rich velvet, soft, blue 
like the sky, covered with white lace so fine that 
it looked like light clouds, and looped up with 
great diamonds, that shone like stars. 

After having been conducted to the foot of 
the throne, Rosamond knelt there, and looked 
up timidly into her majesty's face. Alas ! it was 
clouded with a frown. 

"And so," exclaimed the Queen, " thou art 
the daughter of that Walter Vere who lately 
conspired with other traitors to set our prisoner, 
Mary of Scotland, free ! He hath deserved death ; 
and death he shall have ! " 

" Oh, have mercy, gracious madam ! " cried 
Rosamond. " My poor father had a tender heart ; 
and the Queen of the Scots moved it by her tears 
and her beauty. Oh, she is so beautiful, if your 



LITTLE ROSAMOND 199 

grace would see her you would have pity on her 
also." 

Queen Elizabeth blushed deeply, for she knew in 
her heart that she was envious of Mary Stuart's 
beauty ; and she said, more sternly than before, — 

" Thy father hath acted traitorously, and must 
abide his sentence. Go, child ! " 

But Rosamond, instead of rising, took from 
her bosom a small package and placed it in the 
Queen's hand. It was a paper containing a ring. On 
the paper was written the name of Walter Vere, 
and a verse of Scripture, signed "Anne R." On 
the ring was engraved a crest, the arms of the 
Boleyns. 

Queen Elizabeth turned pale as she examined 
these, and hastily asked, — 

" Where got you this ? And this ? Speak, girl ! " 

" My father," answered Rosamond, " was an 
officer in the Tower at the time the Queen, your 
mother, was imprisoned there. He was good to 
her ; and the night before she was beheaded she 
gave him these mementos." 

Elizabeth's face softened, and a tear shone for a 
moment in her cold, gray eye, but did not fall ; 
then she spoke : — 



200 KENILWORTH CASTLE 

" For her memory's sake we grant thy prayer. 
We forgive thy father ; but let him see to it how- 
he again braves our ire." 

. She then wrote an order for the immediate 
liberation of Walter Vere, stating that she had 
granted him a full pardon. This paper she was 
about to give into the hands of an officer, to be 
conveyed to London ; but Rosamond begged that 
she might carry it herself ; and the Queen, kindly 
assenting, placed her under the charge of the 
officer, requesting him with her own lips to be 
kind to the child. She extended her beautiful hand 
to Rosamond, who kissed it fervently, but was too 
much overcome with joy and thankfulness to speak 
a word more. She rose up so bewildered, and in 
such haste to set out on her journey, that she quite 
forgot Sir Walter Raleigh's injunctions, and, turn- 
ing her back on the Queen, actually ran out of the 
hall, much to the merriment of the gay court. 

The rest of Rosamond's story is soon told. She 
went to London and freed her father, who never got 
into any trouble of the kind again. She grew to be a 
beautiful woman, married a country gentleman, and 
lived for many years far from the great world, but 
happy and beloved, because always good and loving. 



STRATFORD-UPON-AVON 

SHAKSPEARE 




m Mr 




One fresh June morning, 
half sunny and half showery, 
like most summer days in Eng- 
land, I drove with a pleasant 
party of friends into a quiet country village, and 
stopped before a remarkably old and odd-looking 
house, which, after gazing at very earnestly for a 
while, we entered. We first passed through a room, 
which seemed built for a shop, into a smaller apart- 
ment, containing a great deep fireplace, with seats 
in each corner under the chimney. We then as- 
cended a narrow flight of stairs to a chamber empty 
of every thing but a few books and pictures, and 

with the walls and even the ceiling written all over 

203 



204 STRATFORD-UPON-AVON 

with visitors' names. Well, this queer old house is 
the house of the great Shakspeare, and this little 
chamber is the one in which he was born. 

The English keep very sacredly the ancient, 
weather-beaten, moss-grown building where their 
grandest poet first opened his baby eyes, toddled 
about as an infant, played as a boy, spent year 
after year as a young man. They are proud 
enough, all the world knows, of many other 
things, but proudest of all of the name and fame 
of Shakspeare. Among the names written on the 
walls I found those of many famous men and 
women, and even of kings and princes, though by 
far the greater part were Smiths and Joneses, 
Robinsons and Jacksons, Browns and Simpsons 
— families which I think must travel a great deal 
and very fast ; for I saw their names every where 
I went in Europe, though I was pretty sure I had 
left them all in America. 

From the house we went to a lonely old church 
on the banks of the river Avon, where, in what is 
called the chancel, we saw the tomb and the bust 
of Shakspeare. 

When, my dear young readers, you are grown 
to be men and women, you will doubtless read the 



SHAKSPEARE 205 

works of this poet ; but in the mean time, as we 
are at Stratford, perhaps you will be interested in 
hearing something of the man who has made it 
such a famous place. 

The Story of William Shakspeare 

On the 26th day of April, 1564, (only think how 
long ago !) one Mr. John Shakspeare and his wife 
Mary presented themselves at the parish church 
of Stratford-upon-Avon with a young baby, whom 
they had christened William. The parents were 
probably dressed in their best, and brought a good 
number of friends with them. The mother may 
have looked a little pale, and trembled, and wept 
somewhat with joy and thankfulness. The father 
must have been proud and happy ; for, though he 
had two little daughters, this was his first son ; 
but he doubtless bore himself like a man on the 
occasion. 

Mr. John Shakspeare was a respectable wool- 
dealer and a magistrate ; but his wife was of a 
proud and wealthy family, — one of the Ardens of 
Wilmecote, — and some of her friends thought that 
she might have looked higher than a tradesman. 



206 STRATFORD-UPON-AVON 

But I hope that she never felt so, nor treated 
her husband any less kindly than if he had been 
a lord. 

Years went by, and the little William, or Will, 
as he was called, grew in beauty and in knowledge. 
He was not so ruddy and robust as most English 
boys ; but he was well formed, active, and spirited. 
He had a broad, high brow, great, deep, thoughtful 
eyes, and a mouth full of sweetness and pleasant- 
ness. Yet he was a strange, wayward, wilful boy, 
who never took heartily to work of any kind, and 
was never tired of reading poetry, plays, romances, 
and history. He loved to wander off alone in the 
fields and woods, to listen to the winds and birds 
in the trees, and the ripple and laughter of brooks 
down rocks and glens ; and he sometimes might 
have been overheard talking to himself and singing 
snatches of wild songs. He would lie for hours on 
the banks of the Avon, watching the shadows and 
the clouds, or idly plucking up grass and daisies 
and flinging them on the little river, while he 
dreamed out beautiful plays and wonderful fairy 
tales ; and in stormy winter nights he would sit in 
the great chimney corner and tell strange, wild 
stories to his brothers and sisters, till he made 



SHAKSPEARE 207 

them laugh and cry, and sometimes huddle together 
and cling about their mother with fright and horror. 
He was his mother's darling child. She only under- 
stood him, and knew all that was noble and beau- 
tiful under his faults and strange ways ; yet she 
was at times almost frightened to see how much 
wit, and cleverness, and understanding the boy 
had. When sometimes his father would scold be- 
cause William showed no inclination towards the 
wool business or any business at all, and would 
say that the lad would " never come to any good," 
his mother always answered, with a good deal of 
spirit, "Our Will is sure to make some noise in 
the world yet; now, mark my words, John." 

But the neighbors all shook their heads wisely 
and said, " Mrs. Shakspeare is spoiling that boy ; 
he '11 never make the man his father is." 

I am sorry to say that, as he grew out of boy- 
hood, the young poet fell into rather wild ways. 
He was very witty and lively, and so was much 
courted by gay company and exposed to many 
temptations. He showed, too, that a great genius 
can be very foolish and imprudent, by marrying, 
before he was eighteen, Miss Anne Hathaway — 
doubtless a worthy young woman in her way, but 



208 STRATFORD-UPON-AVON 

not suited to William Shakspeare, it seems, for he 
was not long happy with her. He was obliged to 
leave his family and Stratford at last very suddenly, 
and probably in the night time, for having been 
engaged in poaching and deer killing on the estate 
of one Sir Thomas Lucy, a great man in those 
parts, who became very much enraged against him. 
He went up to London, and became a writer of 
plays and an actor at the Globe Theatre. This was 
in the latter part of the reign of Queen Elizabeth, 
or "good Queen Bess," as she was called. She 
was a good sovereign on many accounts, but a 
hard-hearted, vain, and passionate woman. She 
loved to be feared, honored, and obeyed ; but, 
better still, she loved to be flattered. When she 
was young she was rather fine looking, and used 
to spend many hours at the mirror adorning and 
admiring herself ; but, as she grew old, she grew 
excessively ugly, till at last she took a vow never 
to look in a glass again. After that, some of her 
maids, who had a spite against her, were mis- 
chievous enough to dress her hair in ridiculous 
ways, and put the paint on her cheeks in streaks 
and spots ; so that she often was a hideous object 
when she believed herself charming. 



SHAKSPEARE 209 

This Queen was fond of the theatre, and admired 
William Shakspeare's plays. She sometimes set 
him subjects. He wrote one of his best plays for 
her, and paid her several beautiful compliments. 
After the Queen had smiled on him, all the noble 
ladies and gentlemen suddenly found out that he 
was a great wit and genius, and every body paid 
court to him. But the royal favor never came to 
any thing more than words. Her majesty never 
gave him titles, castles, or estates ; and I don't 
suppose it ever entered into her head to make 
him one of her councillors. But perhaps it was as 
well for him ; for that was not altogether an agree- 
able or comfortable office, the Queen being in the 
habit of storming furiously at her ministers when 
they ventured to differ from her — sometimes 
jumping up and soundly boxing their ears. 

It is not now known just what kind of a life 
William Shakspeare led in London. His friend 
Ben Jonson, a writer, praises him very much, and, 
as we can find no bad account of him, we may 
safely conclude that he was not a bad man. You 
know there are always plenty of people in the 
world who are more ready to speak their minds 
about their neighbors' faults than to correct their 



210 STRATFORD-UPON-AVON 

own ; so, if the poet had been very immoral, it 
would surely have come down to us in some way. 

The great Elizabeth died a miserable old woman 
at last — left a thousand magnificent dresses in 
her wardrobe, and not a friend to weep over her 
grave ,* for she had never loved any one half so 
well as she loved herself. 

Soon after King James VI., of Scotland, came 
to the throne, William Shakespeare left London 
and the theatre, and, with a little fortune that he 
had made by his writings, went down to Stratford, 
where he bought a place not far from the old 
house, and lived very comfortably with his family. 

The neighbors said that he had turned out 
better than they expected, but that he was still 
far from equal to his father, honest John Shak- 
speare, the wool-dealer. He was never a great man 
to them. Neighbors are always the last people in 
the world to see a man's greatness. They never 
made a magistrate of him in Stratford ; and he 
died as he had lived — simple Will Shakspeare. 

But since that time his fame has filled the world, 
until it is everywhere allowed that he is the great- 
est poet that ever existed. No book of poetry ever 
written contains so many wise, and beautiful, and 



SHAKSPEARE 



21 1 



wonderful things as the works of Shakspeare, as 
you will find when you are old enough to read them 
for yourselves. When that time comes, let me 
advise you to be sure and get an edition without 
any notes. There are some passages in Shakspeare 
of which it is difficult to understand the meaning ; 
and if you read the notes you are sure never to 
get to the bottom of it, they make the matter so 
much worse. > 




AUG 7 1908 



w 



